Shaw
by victoryscreech357
Summary: Dealing with teenagers is never easy, but Kurt and Blaine have children that redefine the word 'interesting'. From bullying to breakdowns, lies to laughter, and the journey of a particularly special family, no one pushes the Anderson-Hummels around! (Though they might argue a bit amongst themselves.) Later chapters will be rated either T or M, depending on the subject matter.
1. Chapter One: Let's Try This Again

"_Attention, passengers. We are being held momentarily due to train traffic ahead of us. Thank you for your patience."_

Straining in her seat to see the clock in the subway car, Lizzie sighed in exasperation. She knew that she still had time before school began, but the N train she was on had stopped four times at that point. She figured that being late on her first day at a new school wouldn't exactly be the greatest first impression. It didn't help that the car was packed tighter than sardines, stinking of Axe, perfume, and body odor. Luckily, Liz and Blaine had gotten on the train in Brooklyn, meaning that they were just able to get seats before Manhattan. They had sat down by one of the doors, with Lizzie being in the middle seat, and her father by the pole. To her left, out cold, was a man that looked to be in his sixties, getting alarmingly close to using Liz as a pillow. Thankfully, this was prevented by the train starting up again, the sudden force pulling him away. As she was reading an ad near the top of the car, which read 'Divorce: When diamonds aren't forever.', her father's voice jolted her back to reality.

"Nervous?" He whispered, turning to look at his daughter.

"Nah." muttered Liz, lying. She wasn't petrified or anything, but she did feel uneasy. She didn't know anyone at her new school, which was exciting in way, because she could create a whole new fake personality to distract her to-be classmates from her real personality, which left many things to be desired. On the other hand, one fuck-up, and she was screwed.

Blaine raised an eyebrow at her, seeing right through her facade. "Okay, mind telling me the truth?" He knew perfectly well that Liz had a tendency to put on a brave face when threatened, and when this was acknowledged, she usually got defensive. This was no exception.

"What? I'm not!" Liz knew that face. The 'Are you _sure?_' face that every parent develops over time, specifically for their kids. "Seriously, I'm fine."

"You know that it's okay to admit it, right? That you're scared? I mean, you're just as human as I am."

Fighting back every urge to roll her eyes, Liz whispered, "Papa, I'm okay! I've been a freshman before, and I'm sure that it's still going to suck the second time around."

"It's a whole new school, though! And in Manhattan, no less!" Always the optimist, Blaine smiled at his daughter, who didn't seem to share his excitement. As usual, she just seemed uninterested.

"It's in a different borough, big whoop. Dad works in Manhattan, I'm not anything special."

_Come on, Lizzie… _"Well, aren't you excited to make new friends?" asked Blaine, taking another stab at trying to get through to Liz.

Shrugging, she muttered, "I guess…" 'Making new friends', of course, meant that she had to pretend to like a bunch of fake people for six hours every day, for five days a week.

Yay.

To make matters worse, Liz had transferred to an arts school, so she was going to assume that every single person would be some measure of spotlight hog or attention seeker. Before Lizzie could lament further, the train arrived at the Herald Square station.

"_34th Street Herald Square, the next stop will be Times Square 42nd Street, stand clear of the closing doors."_

"Next stop is us."

Not being able to hold back a grin, Liz giggled. "I know, Papa." An Anderson-Hummel family tradition, her father would always announce that they were close to their destination, despite all of them being familiar with the stops of the trains that they used. The train started again, once more nudging the sleeping man away from Liz's shoulder. As the train got closer to the station, she clutched the handle of her book bag, stroking it and feeling the coarse fabric dent her fingertips. Her grip got harder once the station came into view, and Liz came to the frightening realization that she was scared shitless. She was practically shivering, although, whether that was the nerves or the air conditioning was anybody's guess. Just as Liz was wondering why the MTA blasted AC close to arctic temperatures, when they knew damn well that everyone was wearing shorts, the intercom buzzed. Barely intelligible as always, it blared;

"_Times Square 42nd Street."_

Liz stood up far too quickly, ripping her skin off. '_Why can't it be fall so I can wear pants?'_, she lamented, rubbing the backs of her legs, and attempting to put on her book bag in a manner that looked normal. As a large portion of the 'sardines' left the subway car, Lizzie and Blaine included, all of them reeled at the stagnant heat that sat on the platform, a stark contrast to the freezing cold of the N train. It must have been at least 85 degrees, and that was being generous. Always one to crack a joke when nervous, Lizzie shot her father a sly grin and said, "Hey, Papa, aren't you worried that all the products in your hair are going to melt?"

"I think you should be more worried about your hair, with this humidity. You're gonna look like a cloud when we get to your school." Blaine stabbed back playfully.

"Touche."

In the several minutes of people-dodging to get to Times Square, Liz checked her phone a total of three times, anxiously watching the minutes like a doomsday clock.

7:45

7:48

7:52

"Papa, school starts in eight minutes, and I don't wanna be that one student that shows up late on the first day!" Her lie on the train becoming more and more obvious, Liz bounced up and down on her heels as they waited for the walk signal. She had to shout to be heard over the vehicles roaring past them, as well as the dozens of people that were milling around Times Square, oblivious to the fact that it was morning rush hour. And of course, her father yelled back,

"What? I can't hear you, sweetie!"

"Nevermind!" Liz sucked her teeth as a group of tourists elbowed past her, chatting away happily as if they didn't know they were in everyone's way. She may have lived in this city her whole life, but that didn't mean she spent a lot of time in Manhattan. Her and her family, with the exception of Kurt, stayed in Brooklyn, where their apartment was. Now, every single weekday (for the most part), for four years, was to be spent in one of the most populated city areas. And Liz wasn't what anybody would call a 'people person'. The only people she tolerated could all comfortably fit in one room, and that wasn't really saying much, because she couldn't stand her brothers on some days. This particular day had been no exception.

The walk signal finally told them to cross, and Liz was yanked out of her thoughts by a car screeching to a halt mere feet away from her and her father. Before Blaine could say anything, Liz snapped, "Hey, dickweed, get off your phone before you actually hurt someone!" Startled, the man behind the wheel hastily shoved his phone in his pocket, rambling an apology. She stormed forward, her father in hot pursuit.

"Elizabeth!"

Liz couldn't help but laugh. "Ooh, full name!" An angry glare from her father made her change her tone, as he was clearly not in a joking mood. "I'm sorry, I know I need to put a filter on my brain, it's really hard for me! And besides, he almost ran us over!"

"Sweetheart, he wasn't even close to running us over." Now it was Liz's turn to glare angrily. "You're nervous, it's okay, just don't attack random strangers!"

"A random stranger that almost killed us."

Blaine laughed. "Why must you be so dramatic?"

"You ever look in the mirror, Papa?" she replied playfully.

"You're grounded for a year."

"The horror!"

This playful banter continued until Liz and Blaine got to Liz's school. The morning sun cascaded over the uneven, littered sidewalk, casting shadows over the front of the building and making it hard for both of them to see. Squinting, they could make out;

'_George Bernard Shaw High School for the Performing Arts'_

"I still think it's a bit much."

"You're such a drama queen. Then again, it's not surprising, you're your father's daughter."

"I'm telling Dad you said that."

"Trust me, he'll be flattered by the compliment."

Lizzie snorted. "And what about Mom? Do I live up to her legendary attitude?"

"Mercedes will always be the biggest diva, but I'd say you're following in her footsteps pretty nicely." Blaine said, smiling fondly at his daughter. He was prepared to say something else, but was interrupted by a hellish shriek, not unlike a murder victim. However, the emotions behind said noise were quite the opposite. Lizzie found herself engulfed in a giant ball of happiness, crushing her like an adorable python.

"And here we thought we would beat you." Liz recognized the voice immediately as her Aunt Brittany, who warmly embraced her father with a wide smile. Also extremely familiar, the scent of cherries surrounded her, and she struggled to escape from the death grip that her cousin had trapped her in. Maria had always been big on hugs, she found handshakes awkward and distant. She could make anyone feel comfortable, it was one of her talents. Even cold and hardened Lizzie found herself laughing violently as she pried Maria off of her. Clearly, she was excited about school.

"Well, hello to you, too!" Lizzie grinned, beginning to feel a bit more at ease. Although she liked to convince herself that she was a brick wall, unable to be phased, she was perfectly aware that Maria was the one who convinced her to audition for the school in the first place. She knew that she needed emotional support following her first attempt at high school, and the Pierce-Lopez's were the closest thing to family she had, outside of her parents and brothers, and she preferred to have someone to accompany her. Of all people, Maria the Infectious Optimist was perfect. Furthermore, Maria didn't care in the slightest about keeping things from Kurt and Blaine, should Liz be experiencing an episode. Even if Lizzie wanted her to keep quiet. She was sure that having Maria as a wellbeing tattletale was going to get _really_ irritating in time, but she knew it was for her own good.

"I'm so excited!" Maria exclaimed, vibrating as though she was just electrocuted. Her long, black hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail, which Liz could tell took at least half an hour to perfect. Maria, like most other people, had fly-aways, so she probably used an ungodly amount of hairspray to force it to obey. Lizzie, on the other hand, had managed to get her curls up into a messy bun, which she considered a victory, so, hurrah!

Brittany quickly glanced at her phone, looking caught off-guard. "Guys, you don't want to be late, do you?"

Before Liz had a chance to respond, a gasp from Maria and a sudden death grip on her wrist literally and figuratively pulled her back to reality. She found herself being forcefully led away from her father and aunt, trying to wave goodbye before she was out of sight.

"Bye, Mama! I'll call as soon as school is over!" Maria's voice echoed as they entered the building. Though they were moving quickly, Liz could faintly hear, "Oh, I know you will". Once inside, Lizzie managed to get a quick glimpse of the lobby. She had been surprised at the fact that her school shared a building with a community theatre, with the theatre occupying the first floor, and the school occupying the second, third, and fourth floors. This meant that, with the theatre taking up close to two floors of space with its height, there were four flights of stairs to get through.

"Easy, my wrists are still sensitive…" With this, Maria quickly released Liz, looking embarrassed.

"I forgot. I think I may be too excited about starting high school. I'm sure it's not all it's cracked up to be, anyways!" Maria exclaimed, starting her journey up the stairs with Liz.

"Hey, don't let my bad attitude get to you. If you're looking forward to it, then don't stop! I'm just skeptical because of my experiences so far."

"Well, you should be. I don't think anybody would blame you for wanting to switch schools." It took a considerable effort for Maria to speak, as they climbed further up the staircase, grasping at the railing for support. Liz did the same, her legs beginning to ache and her lungs catching on fire.

About three-fourths of the way up the stairs, Lizzie was very agitated. "Who's bright fucking idea was it to put a school up this high?" Her foot began cramping as they reached the top, causing her to limp to the door leading to the school. Next to the door, there was yet another set of stairs, so Liz concluded that the school functioned like a giant, elaborate tower. She wondered why she didn't remember all the details of her visits to the school previously, for her audition and open house. Then again, she was scared out of her mind on both occasions. That might've been the reason.

"We lived!" cheered Maria, giving a tired fist-pump.

"Small victories."

As if on cue, the bell blared, mocking them and their lateness. Ignoring their sore bodies, Maria and Liz sprinted to the door and tore it open. As they ran, Liz couldn't help but admire her cousin's stamina, as she was carrying a bookbag that was almost as big as she was, and probably twice as heavy. The pair quickly opened the second door, leading into the school, and were almost immediately greeted by a large desk, manned by two security guards.

"Freshman?" The first one asked, grinning warmly. The second guard did the same.

Lizzie struggled to catch her breath, while Maria answered, "Yeah, are we late?"

The security guards laughed. "Of course not, sweetie! That was the first bell. It tells the kids to go to their classes. The late bell rings in a few minutes, you're fine."

"_Thank __**god.**_" Liz huffed, still struggling to regain her composure. Meanwhile, Maria had already made her way into the cafeteria just beyond the security desk, putting her bag down and shuffling through her supplies. Liz joined her, doing the same. She glanced over and saw the enormous amount of stuff in Maria's bag, dumbfounded.

"How?"

Maria looked up, breaking her concentration, and laughed. "All these things were on the list, remember?"

"_All_ of them?" Lizzie cocked an eyebrow. She didn't remember the list of supplies very well, but she was certain that, if it had all of the things in Maria's bag, it would be considered a book.

"No, of course not! I just wanted to be prepared for everything!"

Liz snorted, smirking. "Okay, Einstein."

"Shut up."

**Note: This story is also on ArchiveOfOurOwn and Wattpad!**


	2. Chapter Two: The Contracts

Okay.

It wasn't as bad as she thought it was going to be.

Obviously, everyone was loud, but they were excited. Liz mostly kept to herself, taking it all in, piece by piece. Just as she suspected, there were quite a few divas and wannabes. But even they were entertaining, in their own special way. What surprised her the most were the amount of people that weren't interested in being onstage. They seemed the most invested in being stagehands, prop masters, costume designers, sound technicians, etc. This made Lizzie feel a tad more comfortable, knowing that she didn't HAVE to perform to participate in shows. Or, so she thought.

It was during first period, shortly after Liz had gotten to her first class, when a voice could be heard over the intercom; "All freshman, please report to the black box for the beginning of year assembly." She gathered her things, wondering what the hell a 'black box' was, following her new classmates, craning her neck to try and spot her cousin. After failing to find Maria, Liz gave up and sat at the edge of the risers, followed by a boy, who seemed far too tall to be a freshman. About ten seconds of silence passed, before the boy spoke.

"Hi."

Liz looked over, smiling. "Hello. It's nice to meet you!" She offered her hand for the boy to shake. "I'm Liz."

"Nathan! But, uh, you can call me Nate, Nathan sounds too fancy."

Lizzie chuckled. "Either one is fine by me, dude, as long as I know what to call you."

"Yeah, cool! What're you here for?"

"Um, the assembly?" Liz furrowed her brows, confused.

Nate laughed. "No, I mean, what do you do? Performing-wise?"

Oh.

Well…

"I don't know, yet."

Overthinking was one of Liz's 'talents'. The topic of, "Hey, what do you want to do with your life?" had always been a stressful one. She knew it was silly to be so worried about it, but she couldn't seem to make it stop. And now, she had already wasted a year of her life by having to repeat freshman year. She could feel her opportunities wasting away, at the ripe old age of fifteen. However, Nate's response was anything but what Liz expected.

"Cool! I don't know, yet, either! I want to do everything, you know? Sing, act, dance, direct, write, anything I can, really! You know, I-"

"Class of 2043!"

Nate was interrupted by the loud cheering of their classmates. Speaking into the microphone was their principle, a short, friendly, looking man. He was wearing a funky tie, and his teeth were white as paper. "Welcome to your first year, here at Shaw High School!"

More cheering.

"As many of you know, my name is Mr. Simmons, and I am your new principle. Behind me," he gestured to the row of adults sitting behind him, "Are the teachers that you will have the pleasure of working with during your time here."

The line of teachers wasn't very long. Then again, the school was small, with only about fifty students per grade. Mr. Simmons asked for two women from the line to come forward. "This is Mrs. Napta," he gestured towards a taller woman, with springy blonde hair and blue-rimmed glasses. "And Ms. Lake," he then gestured towards a short woman, with stick-straight, black hair, and plum-colored lipstick. "They are your assistant principles. If I'm busy with something that requires all of my attention, I want all of you to know that Mrs. Napta and Ms. Lake are happy to help with whatever you may need." The two women smiled warmly, and Mrs. Napta waved at the students, accepting the microphone offered by Mr. Simmons.

"Hello, everyone! It's so nice to finally see all of you together!" Her voice sounded like birds chirping. "Now, if anyone would be so kind as to help me hand a few things out, that would be lovely!" About ten hands shot up, like rockets. Mrs. Napta chose a girl in the second row, who immediately stood up and strode towards her with confidence that Lizzie could only dream of. As the mystery girl was handing out the papers, Mrs. Napta continued, "I'm the head of activities here at Shaw, as well as the organizer of all the assemblies and shows. If you want to join any groups in particular, or want to be a part of the stage crew for any of our shows, you should speak with me. This year's musical is Chicago, and this year's play is Oedipus Rex. The musical will be in the Fall, while the play will be in the Spring. Audition dates for Chicago will be announced shortly. However, those of you interested in joining the stage crew can come speak to me, starting Friday."

Liz was handed her set of papers, the first one was a scheduled list of school events, reading;

_October 22nd - Hispanic Heritage Assembly_

_October 29th - Halloween Dance_

_December 9th, 10th, 11th, 16th, 17th, 18th - 'Chicago' performances_

_December 23rd - Christmas Assembly_

_February 24th - Black History Assembly_

_March 23rd - Women's History Assembly_

_April 20th, 21st, 22nd, 27th, 28th, 29th - 'Oedipus Rex' performances_

_May 16th, 17th - Senior Distinction Projects_

_May 24th, 25th - Sophomore New Play Festival_

_June 8th - Pride Assembly_

_June 15th - Senior Prom_

_June 27th - Graduation_

And, at the bottom of the page, it read;

_All students must perform in the end of year showcases for their final grades in their theatre classes._

Great.

Now Liz had to be onstage at some point. Oh, well. At least she had the whole year to rehearse for one show, and not a whole bunch of smaller shows. Still, the thought of being on stage made her stomach do backflips. Her turning to the second paper coincided with Ms. Lake taking the microphone.

"Hello, everyone!" Her voice was a bit deeper, and raspy, as if she's had to use her 'classroom quieting' voice for almost a decade. "As Mrs. Napta said, it's great to finally meet you all. And, please forgive us if we can't remember all your names right away. Same goes for pronunciation. You'll just have to be patient with us for a few weeks while we get used to you. Now, I'm not sure if you're aware, but I'm the head of discipline here at Shaw." A few snickers came from the crowd. Despite her small stature, Ms. Lake looked frighteningly large in that instant, cocking an eyebrow so high that Liz was sure that people in the back could see it. In a manner that almost seemed _too_ sweet, Ms. Lake continued. "If any of you disrespect the rules here, or eachother for that matter, I'm the one the teachers will take you too. And, I assure you," She gave them another look that would make the Devil wet himself, "You won't be making any disruptions more than once."

The snickering stopped after that.

The second piece of paper detailed all the rules that Shaw had in place. What really caught Lizzie's eye was one of the largest printed sentences, right in the middle of the page.

BULLYING OR HARASSMENT OF ANY KIND WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.

_Nice._

Liz smiled, appreciating that this place at least tried to appear accepting. She knew that no one was going to follow the rules, and that cliques would run rampant within a month. Then, it was going to be all-out turf wars. Although, with Ms. Lake, Liz felt a bit safer. The rest of the assembly was college-planning, as if they didn't just get there. Once the bell rang, all of the classes were more or less the same. For each period, a contract was given to everyone, teachers introduced themselves, and struggled with names. Liz's name got an interesting reaction almost every time.

"Elizabeth Anderson-Hummel?

As soon as she would raise her hand, about five faces turned to look at her curiously. In a class of eighteen people, five was a lot. And, after a class ended, she would always get the same question from at least one person.

"Are you related to Blaine Anderson-Hummel?"

"Yeah, he's my dad…?"

"Cool!"

Liz didn't really understand the fascination, but then again, she was going to a theatre school. There was one question that caught her off-guard, though.

It was right when lunch started, and Liz had settled herself at a table in the corner, near the stairs. Nathan came to join her, and while they were becoming better acquainted, the mystery girl from the assembly approached their table with a smile. Nathan waved at her to come over, and Liz couldn't help but notice the girl's jewelry. She knew it wasn't her place to ask, but Liz had a feeling that the girl's necklace cost more than her whole outfit. The girl sat opposite of Liz, next to Nate.

"I saw you guys at the assembly, and all the other tables are full. I'm sorry if I'm interrupting anything."

"Nah, we're fine! We could use a few more faces at this table, it's too quiet here." Nate exclaimed, taking a bite of his sandwich.

Liz offered her hand to introduce herself, once again. "It's nice to meet you, I'm Liz!"

The girl's smile got wider. "Cheyenne!"

A few seconds passed, and Cheyenne blurted out, "Wait, so, your last name is Anderson-Hummel?"

_Here it comes…_

"Like…like Kurt Anderson-Hummel?"

_There it i- Wait, what?_

"Uh, yeah, he's my dad." Liz laughed, happily surprised. Saying this made Cheyenne get _very_ excited.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry if that made you uncomfortable, but you see, my mom has had me modeling for a few years now, she's a big fan of fashion, so she's been subscribed to Vogue since forever, and I read all of them when I was little, and your dad's name kept getting mentioned more and more! It's so cool to actually meet someone who knows a Vogue editor!"

"Hi!"

Cheyenne turned to see Maria standing behind her, giggling. Cheyenne turned bright red, and got quiet. She suddenly seemed very interested in the crumbs on the table. Maria, ever-so maternal, noticed immediately, and said,

"Oh, no, I wasn't laughing at you! I thought your gushing was cute!" Maria went around the table and sat next to Liz, elbowing her in a suggestive way. "You're a celebrity around here!"

"Please don't say things like that."

Nate looked over at Maria. "You know eachother?"

Simultaneously, they spoke.

"Sisters."

"Cousins."

They laughed, Liz leaning on her hand and Maria resting her head on the table. After a few seconds of mad giggling, they looked over to see two very confused faces.

"Huh?" Nate had paused mid-bite to stare at them, perplexed. Liz and Maria quickly explained themselves.

"Biologically, we're half-sisters. Same dad, different moms. My parents and her parents are very close friends, so I've known Liz basically forever." said Maria.

Nate still looked puzzled. "That doesn't explain the biology of it, though."

Lizzie smiled. "Maria came along after my older brother and I. My aunts needed a donor to have kids, and they wanted someone they knew and trusted, so they asked my dad, and he said yes!"

It was Cheyenne's turn to be confused. "So, you both have the same dad?"

"Yes!" said Maria.

"Your family is confusing."

"We get that a lot."

Lizzie snorted. "That's nothing compared to Luke."

"Who's that?" Nate asked.

"My older brother. He's four years older than me, and his conception was complicated, from what I've been told."

"I wanna know everything." Nate leaned forward, resting his head on his elbows.

Grinning, Lizzie said, "If you insist! I have two brothers. One older, one younger. My older brother is Luke, and he's nineteen. He technically has two moms. Two of my dad's friends wanted to help them have a kid, so one of them donated an egg, while the other was the surrogate for nine months. My younger brother is Michael, and he was adopted when he was around four. He's thirteen, now."

"Cool!" Nate grinned, and Cheyenne followed suit. They both glanced at Maria. Cheyenne asked, "Do you have any siblings?"

"I have a sister. Bridget! She's twelve, and she is smarter than anyone I've ever seen!"

"You're biased." said Liz.

"And I'm right."

Cheyenne continued, "What's the story behind her? How was she … concieved?" She made an awkward hand gesture that made everyone laugh.

"Well, interestingly enough, Bridget and I aren't biological sisters, at all! We have completely different parents. My other mom carried her, and Liz's other dad was the donor."

Nate finished his sandwich. "I'm still totally lost."


	3. Chapter Three: Eleanor

The rest of the day went by uneventfully. Liz had gone to three more classes before the school day ended, and thus received three more contracts. Right as she was packing up her many papers to leave before the final bell rang, the loudspeaker could be heard once more, with a voice saying;

"All freshman and incoming sophomores see Mrs. Napta for locker assigning."

Close to five minutes later, Lizzie was standing in a mile-long line, stuck in a very narrow hallway leading to Mrs. Napta's office. Every time someone had received their locker combo, they had to side-shimmy to get past the line. Once again, Liz couldn't find Maria among the sea of kids, so she resigned herself to her phone. The hum of whispering voices calmed her into the most relaxed state she had been in all day. Lizzie felt proud of herself, she made it through the whole day without anything going wrong! Slowly, but surely, the line progressed closer and closer to Mrs. Napta's office, her musical voice getting louder by the minute. After about five more minutes, Liz finally got to the head of the line, and she was greeted by the most colorful, yet chaotic room she had ever seen. There were papers all over the walls, Playbills with tickets, posters, books strewn on every flat surface. It looked like a messy unicorn lived there. In the center of all the madness sat Mrs. Napta, navigating the rainbow labyrinth with ease. She spotted Liz, smiling so wide, Liz thought her face would get stuck that way.

"Hello! Miss… Eleanor, right?"

"Elizabeth."

Mrs. Napta snapped her fingers. "That's it! I'm sorry, first days are always so chaotic for me!"

A student, Liz presumed to be an upperclassman, chimed in, "All days are chaotic for you, Napta." The girl had short, blue hair, eyes so dark they were almost black, and a small nose stud. She smiled at Mrs. Napta, who returned the expression, laughing.

The teacher turned back to Liz. "This is T.J.! She's my senior assistant." T.J. nodded at Liz, waving hello, before returning to her phone. Liz was counting the Playbills on the walls, Mrs. Napta rummaged through an enormous stack of papers and pulled out a notebook sheet with very familiar handwriting. "Now, we already got a request from a Miss Maria to share a locker. Would that be alright with you?"

"Do we have to share a locker? I'm pretty messy and I don't want to mess up her mojo." Liz said.

Mrs. Napta explained. "I'm afraid that students must share lockers. We don't have enough space for everyone to have their own."

Lizzie shrugged. "In that case, I would love to have Maria as my locker buddy!" While saying this, Liz couldn't help but notice that the page that had Maria's handwriting seemed far too long to be just about lockers. Mrs. Napta gestured for her to come closer. She said, in a noticeably quieter voice, "She also mentioned that you'll want to speak with Ms. Lake before leaving. She wouldn't elaborate, but she said that it was important."

And with that, Liz wanted to go home, so she went straight to Ms. Lake's office. Or, she tried to. She didn't have the best sense of direction. She got turned around and ended up on the second floor, outside of the black box floors shone with fresh polish, squeaking with every step that Liz made. She stopped when she looked to her right and saw a full-on grand piano. Having only a keyboard at home, Liz strode towards it, not caring about leaving anymore. She lifted the cover and sat, placing her book bag next to her on the bench. Lizzie didn't really know much by heart, so she started playing 'Mary Had A Little Lamb', over and over again, because that wouldn't get annoying, at all. Once she had gotten bored and started playing random keys to make up her own amateur tune, she heard squeaky footsteps behind her. Liz turned to see Cheyenne, watching intently.

"It's okay, you didn't have to stop playing." she smiled warmly, gathering her hair into a ponytail. Liz had never seen anyone with hair as dark as hers. Not without dye, at least. Her skin was the color of caramel, and Liz could see a mark on her neck.

"It's alright! I don't like to play when other people might want to have a conversation."

Cheyenne sat down next to Liz, putting her bag on the floor. "Well, what do you want to talk about?"

Glancing at her neck, Liz asked, "What's the story behind that?" She pointed to the mark. Cheyenne laughed, bringing up her hand to feel it. "My brother gave this to me when I was four. He was six and had just discovered the magic of staplers." Liz snorted. Immediately after, she covered her mouth, flushed red. "I'm _so_ sorry, I can't control when that happens." To her surprise, Cheyenne grinned warmly at her, exclaiming, "Why're you sorry? That was adorable!"

_Did…_

_Did a girl just call her 'adorable'?_

Before Liz could comprehend what had just happened, she remembered that she had to see Ms. Lake. She got up far too quickly, knocking her book bag to the floor, and both her and Cheyenne reached to pick it up. Cheyenne reached it first and meekly handed it to Liz, smiling.

"Here. I'm sorry if I freaked you out…"

"Oh, no, no! It's okay, I just remembered I have to see Ms. Lake before I leave. Uh, do you know where her office is?" Liz pointed up and down the hall, still perplexed on the location. Cheyenne pointed to the stairs. She said, "She's on the first floor, next to Mrs. Napta's office."

Liz laughed, sounding like a mad scientist, thus further embarrassing herself. She quickly turned and escaped down the stairs, nearly tripping at the bottom. She strode past the cafeteria once more, and passed it almost immediately. The room was small, with only five tables. Lining the walls were glass cases, filled with certificates and posters for shows of the school's past. Lizzie managed to spy 'Little Shop Of Horrors' and 'Oklahoma!' as she pressed on, passing a set of lockers and finally reaching the narrow hallway once again. Ms. Lake's office was indeed right next to Mrs. Napta's.

_Nice going, fucking idiot…_

Liz cursed herself as she walked in. However, looking around and observing the office, she suddenly felt better. This became clear as to why as soon as she heard Ms. Lake's voice, behind a sheer separator.

"Hello! Who just came in?" Ms. Lake peeked around the edge of her makeshift wall and saw Liz. "That's right, I told your friend to send you, come in! Have a seat!" For how intimidating she seemed at the assembly, Ms. Lake was awfully kind. Liz sat in one of the two armchairs that faced a large desk. Despite the chair being quite comfortable, she sat on the edge, her stomach doing backflips. Taking notice of this, Ms. Lake reassured her, "Relax. You're not in trouble. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute." Lizzie sat back in the chair, sinking into the firm leather back. Her foot began to bounce as Ms. Lake sat adjacent to her and spoke.

"Now, your friend, Maria, came to me at lunch to express some concerns about you. She was very persistent in seeing me."

"That sounds like her."

"Despite these concerns, I told her that I had already spoken with your parents about those issues, but I still wanted to speak with you. I want you to understand that we have a much more tolerant environment here, and bullying and harassment of any kind is taken extremely seriously. You have nothing to worry about. And if anyone starts bothering you in this way, tell me or one of the other teachers, and we'll be sure to take care of the matter." With a more grave look on her face, she continued. "This may not be my place to ask, but you are taking your medication?"

Liz's face fell to her hands, bound tightly on her lap, and she murmured, "Yes."

Her teacher's eyebrows furrowed with concern. "Sweetheart, don't be embarrassed. Other students here struggle with the same things you do. I just want to make sure you're taking care of yourself, and that your time here is as peaceful as possible. However, I can't guarantee that if you have an outburst like you did at your previous school." Ms. Lake leaned forward. "You put that boy in the hospital. You threw him over the stair railing."

"He deserved it!"

Complete silence, followed by a deep sigh from Ms. Lake. "Elizabeth, I'm sure that you had good intentions in your actions. I've heard the story from your parents, and that boy deserved to be disciplined for what he did, but that doesn't mean that you attack him and shove him over a railing!"

"Look, I know, alright? I had enough people calling me a freak before that, so I gave them a reason to! I know I could have handled that jackass with more dignity, and I don't know what happened to my brain, but I just got _so_ angry! I can't even remember half of what happened, all I know is, he said… _that..._ and the next thing I knew, there was screaming at the bottom of the stairs, and people so close to me that I couldn't breathe." Liz could feel herself struggling not to cry, her shoulders trembling and her eyes wet. Her stomach was now doing a full-on gymnastics routine, and she could feel her face getting warm.

Ms. Lake quickly got up and sat in the chair next to her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "Shhh, it's alright. You're safe here. No one's going to treat you like that again. I'll make sure of that." Liz hiccuped, followed by a small chuckle. She always got a serious case of hiccups when she was upset, and strangely enough, it helped her feel better. She smiled at Ms. Lake, whispering a 'thank you.' Lizzie got up, and gathered her bookbag, while Ms. Lake added, "Mrs. Dahue is the student counselor, if you feel yourself getting upset for any reason, please go straight to her. Her office is close to the school entrance. Or, if it's particularly serious, come to me, and I'll get it sorted out. I'll see you tomorrow." With that, Liz left Ms. Lake's office, feeling a bit more vulnerable, but glad that she was finally able to go home. As she passed by the cafeteria once more, she saw Maria and Nate, chatting by the entrance. Liz noticed that Maria had a red mark on her hand.

"Hey, you good? Your hand…" Liz pointed to the mark. Maria laughed, and said, "I got a bit too excited in dance, did a leap that I didn't prepare for, and fell on my hand!"

Liz was still confused. "But, why is it red instead of bruised?"

Nate answered. "She slid on the floor with her hand underneath her."

_Ouch._

Maria began to leave, beckoning Liz to follow. "Come on, I've already had to make a million excuses for why I haven't left yet."

"Was it Aunt Brittany or Aunt Santana?" Liz smirked.

"Take a wild guess." Maria held up her phone to show that she was texting with Santana.

Both laughed, and left. They raced eachother down the stairs, and Maria was the obvious winner. As they got outside, Liz asked,

"Are they picking you up?"

"Nah, subway."

"Same."

They both took a left and headed towards Times Square. Thankfully, this was a short time before rush hour, so the crowds weren't too bad. Well, they _were_ bad, just not as bad as they could be. As Maria and Liz weaved between foot traffic, Maria asked,

"Are you gonna audition for Chicago?"

"Probably not." Liz eyed the sky anxiously. It was cloudy and she didn't bring an umbrella.

Maria, always prepared, began to fiddle with her bag to get her own umbrella out. She continued, "What about freshman elections? You know, student council?"

Laughing, Liz elaborated, "Maria, today was our first day. I wanna give myself a bit of time to adjust before I start doing stuff." Thinking for a second, Liz added. "I wouldn't mind having a smaller position, though. Like Treasurer or Secretary."

"See, that's the spirit! Get involved, make friends!"

"I'm surprised I managed to do exactly that. I thought people would just avoid me."

Maria finally fished out her umbrella, narrowly dodging a man in a suit. "Why? You look friendly."

"It's all in my head. At least, that's what Luke tells me."

"Luke's the best."

Liz grimaced. "Okay, that's pushing it."

The rest of the walk to the subway station was discussing their classes and various teachers. As they passed the turnstiles and made it to the R and N trains, Maria said,

"I'll see you tomorrow! Say hi to everyone for me!"

"Same goes for you, say hi to Bridget for me! Get home safe!"

They both waved goodbye, and Liz went to the Downtown side, while Maria went to the Uptown side. Maria's uptown N arrived first. So Liz was left with nothing but her thoughts and a hundred strangers on the platform. Music was playing somewhere, and everyone was either looking at their phones, or checking if the train was close, always disappointed. Liz texted her parents that she was on her way home, and a few minutes later, she could hear the deep rumbling of a train getting closer. Upon further inspection, she saw that it was an N, meaning that she would get home faster. Her hair billowed in the gust of wind as the train sped into the station, full of people. The doors opened, gracing Liz with it's sweet, sweet air conditioning. Thankfully, more than half of the passengers had gotten off, so Liz managed to snag a seat before the car filled up again. Her phone buzzed as she got comfortable, reading,

_Okay. We'll see you at home, sweetie! Love you!_


	4. Chapter Four: Green Skies

By the time that Liz had gotten out of the train station, it was pouring rain.

Her neighborhood was bustling on good days, but with the nasty weather, everyone was tucked in their blankets at home. It wasn't expected to get better, either. She could hear thunder in the distance, and the people still outside were rushing to get indoors, covering their heads with whatever they had. Liz ducked inside a bodega, feeling the rain starting to dampen her clothes, sighing with temporary relief. She observed the small shop, squinting in the bright yellow lights and shivering from the A/C. She could feel drops of water running down the back of her neck, and her glasses were all foggy and gross. Her sneakers squelched with moisture, and she could hear the ground outside being beaten with rain. It was almost green outside. Panicking, Liz dropped her book bag and opened it, afraid that her stuff had gotten all wet. Fortunately, while the outside of her bag was soaked, the inside remained clean and dry. Breathing a sigh of relief, Liz's attention was caught by something at the other side of the store.

A cat!

Liz had gotten used to this in bodegas and delis, but it was always a pleasant surprise to see them anyways. This one was all black, with one white paw. Stupidly assuming she was alone, Liz started walking towards the cat, exclaiming, "You have a sock! You're so cute!" Disappointingly, the feline friend bolted just as Lizzie got close, and she heard voice somewhere behind her.

"She's very skittish, please don't scare her!"

Liz whirled around, her heart stopping for a solid second. There was a man behind the register that wasn't there when Liz came in, looking just as shocked as she was.

Liz stammered, "Oh, I'm sorry! The rain got really bad, and I don't have an umbrella! I'm waiting for the rain to ease up! I didn't mean to scare the cat!"

The man, relaxed, continued, "It's alright, but I can't have someone stay here unless they buy something. Otherwise, you have to find somewhere else." He added, "It's store policy, I just follow it. I don't want to get in trouble."

"It's okay, thank you anyways!" Liz threw her book bag over her shoulders as she left, feeling the dampness start to soak through her shirt. _Fucking gross,_ she thought, trying her best to stay to the left, under the awnings to protect herself. Once she got to the corner, she had half an avenue to go, to get to her building. Liz booked it and ran, the strong wind whipping her hair in her face, messing up her glasses even more. The thunder was closer now, and she could see lightning in the green clouds. It would have been pretty in Liz hadn't been drenched by the time she got to her building. Once she had finally found her keys in her bag, she opened the door to her building and ran inside, intensely relieved. She wiped her feet on the rug in the cramped lobby, as if that would help, and looked to her left at the mailboxes. There were a few packages, both on top of them, and on the floor beneath them. Liz checked all of them, and saw the names 'Lucas' and 'Kurt'. She scooped up the boxes and continued to her apartment, leaving water all over the stairs. She was huffing by the time she got to the third floor, and with her hands full, she couldn't get to her keys, so she resorted to banging on the door with her foot. Unsurprisingly, she was not met with an open door, but with a familiar voice.

"Who is it?"

Grumbling, Liz shifted the boxes to a more comfortable position. "We have a peephole, use it." A moment of silence passed, and then the voice said, "No one sees the mighty Wizard!"

"Michael!"

"We don't want any soaked Girl Scout cookies."

Liz kicked the door again, this time with more force.

"_...Fine._ If you insist."

She heard the lock click, and the door swung open to reveal her younger brother, wearing a sweater and a shit-eating grin. Liz shoved the boxes at him, and she closed the door and locked it while he struggled to hold them.

"Fuck you."

They both went into the living room, and Michael set the packages down on one of the armchairs. "Nice to see you, too. How was school?"

"It was okay. Really loud, lots of contracts, Maria bouncing off the walls…"

"Must be a day that ends in Y."

Liz was about to throw herself on the couch when another voice yelled, "No, don't, you're gonna get the couch wet!" Liz's older brother, Lucas, had just come out of the bathroom, holding a towel. He threw it at her, continuing, "You're going to catch a cold, why didn't you bring an umbrella?"

"The weather app said that it was going to be nice today!"

"And you trust weather apps?" Michael said as he sat on the couch himself. She muttered, "Shut up.", as she dried her hair. While her face was covered, she felt something nudging her knees. She removed the towel to see the always happy face of Tracy, their golden retriever. She was eagerly nudging her head into Lizzie's lap, trying to say hi, her tail almost knocking over a plastic cup on the coffee table. Luke promptly moved everything out of the way. Liz laughed, scratching behind Tracy's ears while the dog looked up at her with those big, brown eyes. Once she had dried herself off, Liz headed to her room to change into something more cozy, and looking over at her bed, she saw a big ball of fur near her pillows. She knew that she didn't have any fur pillows, so she sat right next to the mass and began petting it, and it began to purr.

"What's up, big guy? You have a good day?"

The mass untangled itself to become a cat. A tabby, to be specific. He nudged his head into Liz's palm, narrowing his eyes and purring louder.

"Huh? Tracy annoy you today?" The cat looked at her, as if to say, '_You have no idea._`` Fester was a grumpy old lovebug that liked to hang out in Liz's room, unbothered. He was a little chunky, but that was because he had learned to get into his food supply, which was now under lockdown. He also had scars across his nose, from fights that he had gotten into as a kitten on the street. It had taken weeks of leaving out food and building trust for Fester to even get close to being a housecat. And even then, it took quite a bit of convincing.

'_Kurt, there's a kitten out back!'_

'_What?'_

_``I gave it some food that I got from the corner store, and it seems really friendly!'_

'_Blaine, we have no idea if that cat has anything wrong with it. What if it's sick? Has diseases? We have two small children, I don't want them getting hurt!'_

_``I know, but can I still give it food? Maybe it'll warm up to me, and then I can take it to a vet!'_

'_Sweetheart, I don't think that cat's going to get close to you if you don't have food.'_

A few months later, Fester was introduced into the family. He did, indeed, have several things wrong with him, mainly his injuries from street fighting. When he was brought home, he hid in various places for a month, avoiding everyone at all costs. Fester came into the family before Michael did, and the cat took an instant liking to him once the entire family moved back into their apartment. Michael was having a hard time getting used to everyone, too, so he and Fester got along like a house on fire. The only reason that Fester stayed in Liz's room was to get some peace and quiet, her two brothers shared a room, and thus shared more than a few arguments.

Once Liz had finished changing, and let Fester out of her room, she took all the contracts out of her bag, and to her relief, only one was damp. However, looking at this particular contract closer, Liz saw that it was for her dance class, which contained a list of clothing that she had to get.

_Girls: Black, salmon, or skin-coloured leotards and tights, and black jazz slippers._

_Boys: Shorts you can move around in (i.e., basketball shorts), or professional black dance pants, and black jazz sneakers._

So, girls had to empty out the bank to get a whole new wardrobe, and boys only had to get sneakers? Liz rolled her eyes while she filled out her parts of the contracts, making notes of all the things she had to get. She was signing her name on the last contract when she heard a soft knock on her door.

"Hey, you need help with anything?"

"It's only contracts, and I need to wait for Dad to get home so he can sign them."

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure."

She heard the door opening, and she heard Luke exclaim, "Jesus, Liz! I thought Dad told you to clean on Saturday! Why are your clothes still all over the place?" She turned to see her brother looking comically overwhelmed, and she began to snicker. His face turned pink as he said,

"Not funny! You could trip and hurt yourself!"

"Okay, Mom."

Luke ranted while he left the room, looking personally insulted. "I didn't ask for this! I didn't want to be stuck babysitting two goblins, who don't know how to clean their fucking rooms!" Liz could hear Michael chime in from the living room, "Who are you calling a goblin, asshole?" She then heard a soft thump, which meant that someone had gotten hit with a pillow. Liz smiled to herself, feeling pretty good about how the day had gone, despite getting drenched. Once she had finished checking her papers for anything she might have missed, she went to join her brothers in the living room. Luke was on his laptop, typing furiously, while Michael was on the floor in front of the television, playing a video game. Liz plopped down on the couch with her phone, to see that she had gotten a text from Maria.

'_Hey, you get home safe? It was pretty bad when I got out of the subway.'_

Lizzie responded, '_I got soaked, but I made it home safe, thanks. You?'_

'_My umbrella nearly got turned inside out, and my backpack got really wet, but I took pictures of all of my contracts while I was waiting for you, so I'm good.' _Maria texted back.

Lizzie continued. '_You have all the stuff for dance?'_

Maria replied, '_Yeah, of course. I don't think you do, though?'_

'_I don't have anything on that list. And we aren't the same size, so I can't borrow things from you.'_

Maria, always helpful, texted back, '_You're still going to have to buy the clothes yourself, but Ms. Rollis put a discount code on the contract. That should help.'_

As Liz was typing a 'thank you', she heard the apartment door open. She craned her neck to look behind her to see her father, just as drenched as she was when she got home. Luke looked into the hallway from his chair and practically shot up to get a towel, but was quickly dismissed.

"It's okay, bud, I can get it myself." Tracy got up from next to Michael to say hello to Kurt, while Lizzie got up to get him a towel anyways. Michael saved and shut off his game, and Luke returned to typing. Liz opened the closet door and was attacked by something falling on her face, something hard. She yelped and stumbled back, while whatever hit her fell to the floor. Upon further inspection, she saw that it was an air freshener, placed precariously on the top shelf. She angrily grabbed it and tossed it to the back, reaching to get a towel, rubbing her nose. She closed the door, turned to go back to the living room, and almost smacked right into Kurt, who looked concerned.

"You okay? I heard something fall, are you hurt? Is anything broken?" He turned on the hall light and pushed her hair out of her face, and stopped halfway, sighing. "Why is your hair wet?"

"I kind of forgot my umbrella this morning." Lizzie sheepishly handed him the towel. "What about you?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "My umbrella turned inside out in Manhattan. Sweetheart, you're going to get sick if you keep forgetting your umbrella."

"I know, I'm sorry, I thought I had it with me!" Liz exclaimed as her father rubbed his hair dry.

"Lizzie, it's okay. Just please don't forget it again." Kurt finished drying his hair, removing the towel and smiling warmly as his daughter. He ruffled Liz's hair while she tried to duck away unsuccessfully. Kurt turned towards the living room.

"Who's doing what tonight?

Lizzie claimed the first chore. "I'll do coffee for tomorrow."

Luke went next. "Dishes."

Michael said, "Garbage."

"Then I'm doing dinner. What do you guys want?" Kurt and Liz walked back into the living room. Liz joined Michael on the couch, while Kurt claimed the armchair not occupied by Luke.

"Pizza."

"Caviar!"

"Chinese food!"

"Something in the house!" Kurt exclaimed, looking exhausted.

A few seconds of silence, then Michael said, "Pasta?"

"That sounds good. Pasta it is, then."


	5. Chapter Five: Superman

That day had been exhausting for Luke.

He thought he'd have a nice, relaxing day. No one goes to the grocery store when it's pouring rain outside, right? WRONG. The storm started later than expected, giving everyone more time to rush to the store to buy eggs, bread, and milk. You know, the essentials. Luke's entire morning consisted of deliveries, back to back, all of them two boxes or more. The poor people that just wanted to buy a pack of gum and some M&M's had to wait forever to get out of the store. The lines prevented people from walking freely through the aisles. Thankfully, the managers saw how busy it was and helped out as much as they could, boxing things and labeling deliveries, or simply helping to bag normal orders. Since the threat of bad weather meant the apocalypse was near for New Yorkers, many of Luke's customers were snippy and downright rude if they thought he wasn't finishing their order fast enough. On the bright side, there was a delightful old woman that told him cool stories while he bagged her groceries. Plus, she gave him a ten dollar tip, which was always amazing. Luke's break came an hour later than usual, and he could swear he was in heaven when he went downstairs and heard blissful silence. Well, almost blissful silence.

As Luke walked through the hallway leading to the break room, he heard loud snoring. He explored to locate the source, and soon discovered his co-worker, sound asleep in the online-shopping area. Luke approached him and gently nudged him awake, whispering,

"Hey, man, didn't your break end fifteen minutes ago?"

The sleeping figure swatted him away like an insect, prompting him to nudge harder.

"Paul, dude, seriously, you're gonna get written up."

The sleeping figure known as Paul then sat up, stretching. "Wait, what time is it?"

"11:27."

"SHIT." Paul shot up like a bullet, grabbing his ID and sprinting upstairs. Luke watched him run, completely understanding. The day had been exhausting, so far, and he didn't doubt that online orders were pouring in like crazy. He continued on his way to the break room, feet and back aching from heavy boxes. The basement was a fair amount cooler than the rest of the store, by at least ten degrees, so Luke threw on his sweater to keep warm. Despite the temperature being in the 80's outside, the store always felt like the most frigid parts of Antarctica, so everyone always made sure to bring an extra layer. Luke finally made it to the break room, nearly throwing himself into one of the chairs, laying his head on the table and relishing in the cool marble blessing his forehead. He groaned as he sat up, propping his head on his hands and staring at the microwave right across from him. This reminded him that he hadn't eaten since six in the morning, if his rumbling stomach was any indication. He put his bag on the table, shuffling through its contents until he found his lunch, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Feeling ever-so adult, Luke munched on his grown-up meal and checked his phone, and saw a message from Michael.

_I'm bored._

Luke put down the sandwich and glared sternly at the microwave, imagining it was his brother. He texted back,

_You're supposed to be in class._

As to be expected. Michael responded, '_I've had Mr. Toreen before, he's an idiot who doesn't know how to teach.'_

Luke sighed, and once again rested his head on the table, in disbelief of the stupidity. Luke knew that Michael had a hard time thinking before he spoke, but he didn't think that Michael would use his phone knowing full well he could get in trouble. Luke finished the conversation with;

_Get off your phone, idiot. You really want Dad or Papa coming to pick up your phone on your first day?_

And with that, Michael stopped. Luke finished the rest of his sandwich in silence, with the occasional blaring of the intercom interrupting his peace. Dreading having to go back to deliveries and bitchy soccer moms, Luke slowly got up and headed back upstairs to clock back in. To his delight, however, the store had cleared out a considerable amount. Luke peered outside and saw why; it was pouring rain outside. Mentally fist-pumping, he returned to his station, checking out a few stragglers with a handful of items. This change of pace did have drawbacks, though, as now, Luke was bored out of his mind. At noon, he still had three hours left, and there was no one left in the store. He was given the option to leave early, but hey, free money, he wasn't going to give that up. Still, going home sounded like a capital idea after fifteen minutes of nothing. Luke crafted a makeshift seat at his station, propping his legs up on the shelf underneath his register. He looked behind him and saw another cashier at the express lane. Lola. She had been working at Okay!Food far longer than Luke, seeing as how she trained him when he first started. She was tall, taller than him. Then again, lots of people were taller than him, so he didn't mind it too much. Her hair was magnificent, voluminous and curly. Lola saw Luke staring and waved, leaning on her register, seemingly just as bored as he was. As the hours passed, the same stupid pop songs played over the intercom, and Luke swore that he could sing every one of them by heart. Just as he was about to leave, he had a customer come into his lane, carrying a basket full of items. Luke smiled. The man didn't. In fact, the customer seemed rather irritated. He glared at Luke while Luke scanned his items, and Luke felt extremely uneasy. The man was strangely familiar to him, too. The reason for this became clear once the man handed Luke his store card, and Luke read the name on the screen.

_Fuck._

"Hey, Otto! Long time, no see!" Luke smiled awkwardly, which was quickly dropped as Otto responded,

"You really have some balls to say that to me, asshole."

"Look, man, I was an ass back in high school. I shouldn't have picked on you, and I'm so-"

"Picked on me?! First off, I wasn't the only one you and your friends harassed. Second, you didn't 'pick' on me, you made my life hell!" Otto hissed, throwing his money on the counter, leaving Luke to scramble for it.

As he was picking up the change, Luke said, "I know, dude! I was an awful person, but I've changed! College really did a number on me, and I'm trying to turn myself around."

Otto sneered. "What, by working at a grocery store?"

"I gotta pay bills, man."

"So you dropped out of college?"

"Sort of. I had to transfer to a community college when my grades weren't too hot. But I'm doing better!" Luke handed Otto his receipt, he put his retail smile back on. "So, what are you doing right now?"

Otto's grimace turned into a smug grin. "I'm attending Colombia, and I was inducted into the honors society end of freshman year."

"Congrats, Otto! That's really cool!"

But, as Otto was leaving, Luke heard him mutter, "Not that you would know what that feels like." Lola, indignant on his behalf, slinked out of the express lane and went over to Luke, leaning on the side of his station.

"What a dick."

Luke sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I've said worse to him. Back in high school, my 'friends' and I loved to single him out and bully him." He began to close down, taking out his tray and counting all his coupons and bottle deposits. He continued, "God, I wish I could take back all the shitty things I did."

Lola laughed. "Don't we all?"

"I suppose this is karma doing what it does best. Otto was the bullied kid, and he ended up going to one of the best schools in the country. Me, well-liked and good grades, stuck working here, going to community college." Luke finished organizing his papers, feeling a headache coming on, which was now a common occurrence. He remembered all too well what happened when he went too far with the bullying and caught the attention of the vice principal. The administration called his parents, and he was suspended for a week, with probation the rest of his senior year. No prom. No senior trip. No extracurriculars. But, no matter how badly he was punished by his teachers, that was nothing compared to how angry Kurt and Blaine were.

Luke remembered feeling like he was waiting for execution when they told him to stay in his room while they spoke about what to do with him. Bile rose in his throat, tears of shame and regret just wouldn't go away. When they called him into the living room, every step felt like Luke was walking on hot coals, his legs shaking. He expected lots of screaming and all of his freedoms and possessions taken away. But, when he entered the living room, it was silent.

_Luke stood in the doorway, heart pounding and hands trembling. He stared across the room at his parents, both sitting on the couch, expressionless. Once they had seen how scared he was, their stern faces softened slightly, and Blaine sighed._

"_Sit." He said, gesturing to the armchair closest to the couch. Luke hastily sped to his seat and sat down, hands clasped so tight that it decreased blood flow to his fingers. Luke was mentally kicking himself for being so reckless and stupid, but even more so, for being so inconsiderate of his family's morals and history. Remembering all the times that his parents told him to be kind to other people, to always be the bigger person, came back to haunt him as he looked up at them from his seat. Kurt and Blaine glanced at eachother for a good five seconds before Kurt spoke._

"_Care to explain yourself?"_

_Luke's words caught in his throat, and he felt as though his brain short-circuited._

"_I-I…" His lower lip trembled as he struggled to speak, and his emotions spilled over. Luke felt warmth running down his face, and he quickly looked towards his lap, hiding his tears. He was now visibly shaking, and he kept trying to dry his cheeks, but to no avail. _

'_**I'm such a fucking coward.' **__This thought had been the most prevalent since Luke had gotten home, the sentence repeating over._

_And over._

_And over again._

_Finally, Luke chose what he wanted to say, casting all shame aside. "I'm so sorry!" With this, he completely broke down into sobs, hiding his face in his hands. His chest was heaving so hard it hurt, and he couldn't breathe. In between gasps, Luke heard his parents get up from the couch, and he expected the onslaught of yelling to start. Instead, he felt hands on his back, rubbing circles into his shoulder blades. He poured his soul out for almost five minutes, crying into his hands, feeling wet heat drip through his fingers and onto the floor. Kurt and Blaine stayed silent, but continued to comfort him, and when Luke finally managed to calm down enough to breathe properly, he heard;_

"_Hey. Look at me."_

_Luke hesitantly lifted his face, sniffling. His green eyes were red and swollen, and his cheeks were damp. Both of his parents were kneeling on each side of where he was sitting, and Kurt moved to be in front of the chair, eye level with Luke. He took Luke's hand and helped him stand up. Luke stumbled, and Blaine reached from behind him to grab his arms and steady him. Luke took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to compose himself. _

"_I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be losing it like this…"_

"_Stop. Sit with us." Luke heard Blaine say behind him, and he felt himself being pushed forward. He sat in the middle of the couch, while his parents sat on either side of him. Kurt spoke._

"_What's going on with you? Why have you been acting like this?"_

_Blaine added, "You're better than this, why did you think it was okay to act like that?"_

_These questions were followed up with more questions that Luke couldn't answer with more than an, 'I don't know.'_

_Because he didn't know why. He couldn't think of anything else to say to defend himself, because he knew that he didn't have any excuses for how he acted. The rest of the conversation was a blur, but one moment remained crystal clear._

"_We're very disappointed with you."_

_Luke felt like he was just stabbed with a rusty knife. A fresh batch of tears rose up, and soon, Luke was sobbing even harder than before. He practically collapsed on Kurt's shoulder, and once again, he choked,_

"_I'm sorry, please…"_

_Luke couldn't see anything outside of fabric, but he heard his father's voice above him, murmuring as he felt Kurt pull him into a hug._

"_Shh, everything's going to be alright. But you need to understand, what you did to those children, the things you let your friends do to them, was unforgivable. You understand?"_

_Luke nodded, sitting up and wiping his face with his sleeves. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see Blaine holding a box of tissues. Luke smiled weakly and whispered a 'thank you' before leaning back on the couch. Kurt brushed Luke's hair back, out of his face. Luke laughed, which was a disturbing sensation after just crying like a baby._

_Kurt said, "We're expecting you to apologize to all of your classmates that you bullied."_

_Blaine continued, "And no more laptop or phone for anything but school."_

_Luke leaned forward, nodding once again. The sick, heavy feeling in his gut had gone away, but it was now replaced with crushing guilt and humiliation. _

"_I'm such a fucking idiot."_

_Blaine was quick to say, "No, you're not. You engaged in poor decision-making, yes. But your father and I don't like it when you talk about yourself like that."_

"_Don't think we haven't noticed it recently." Kurt said._

"_I could have gotten myself expelled! I could have lost my scholarship, I'm a fuck-up!" Luke exclaimed._

_Kurt snapped, "Lucas!"_

"_Why are you lying to me? Why aren't you talking about how much of a failure I am?"_

"_We're not lying to you! You're not a failure, stop saying things like that!" Kurt raised his voice for the first time since the conversation began. Blaine said, in a softer voice,_

"_Bud, do you need to talk to someone about all this?"_

_Luke paused for a moment, then muttered, "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."_

Luke was startled out of his thoughts by a bolt of lightning illuminating the store parking lot, followed by a clap of thunder. Lola had returned to the express lane, and the sky had went from gray to green. He suddenly remembered that he had to clock out, so he counted his tray and turned it in to go home. He headed downstairs to go and get his things from his locker, hearing his footsteps echoing throughout the hallway and staircase, and seeing his shadow move across the wall. He threw on his raincoat, not caring in the slightest about the pouring rain, and headed home.

After ten minutes of bearing rain and listening to roaring thunder, Luke finally made it to his building, then his apartment. He immediately shed his raincoat, and hung it up on the coat rack near the door, calling out,

"Hello? I'm home! Anyone here?"

"Me!" Luke heard Michael exclaim from their room. As Luke headed to their room to kick his shoes off and change, Michael appeared in the doorway and blocked the way.

"I'm working on homework that requires complete concentration."

"And I'm cold, hungry, and tired. Move."

"Fine."

Michael left the doorway and went back to his desk, while Luke went behind his divider and changed. Once Luke emerged in dry clothes, he looked over and saw his brother impossibly hunched over his work, his eyes never leaving the paper.

"Hey, how come you have homework? It was your first day back…"

"This isn't homework, this is the list of experiments suggested for the science fair. I'm trying to guess which one Hazel is going to do, so I can beat her and finally win first place."

Luke walked up next to him, looking over the list. "This is child's play, you can blow all of these out of the water!" He ruffled Michael's hair while Michael tried to push him away unsuccessfully.

"I know that, I'm just trying to beat Hazel at her own game. I'm obviously not going to do any of these projects, that's what she expects me to do."

"No project Superman can't handle."

"I like to think of myself as Tony Stark, but thank you for the compliment."


	6. Chapter Six: No Answer

It was only nine in the morning, and Michael was already over it.

Same classmates. Same drama. Same teachers.

Same everything.

There were a few things that he was looking forward to, though. This was his last year at P.S./I.S. 905, and he was ecstatic about leaving. He wasn't what you would call a 'people person', and his classmates had taken notice and alienated him for it. The bullying wasn't severe in any case, just a lot of idiots calling him names and excluding him from mostly everything. He didn't mind, though. He enjoyed the peace and quiet, it allowed him to focus more on his work. There were a few people that didn't follow the 'Michael is weird' train, and instead, they encouraged his work and hung out with him during school. One of these people was a girl named Hazel. Michael wasn't too keen on her attitude most of the time, but she was fun to have around. Plus, she was fiercely intelligent, and she let everyone know. She got the highest scores on every test, every project, and she always placed first at the school science fair.

_Always._

Hazel had gotten the gold for two years in a row, and she was eager to start working on her third. Michael was close to her at that point, but he had to admit, he was more than a little jealous. He worked his ass off for both years on his projects, and he couldn't even place in either of them. Science was his favorite subject, he knew it like the back of his hand. But, he always seemed to rub his teachers and classmates in the wrong way. Parent-teacher conferences were always interesting.

"_Well, your son is one of our highest performing students, but he-"_

"_He always talks back to me during class…"_

"_Doesn't work well with his classmates…"_

"_Lack of enthusiasm."_

"_Can't seem to work well in a group!"_

Michael had heard all of it before, and quite frankly, he didn't really care. He hated working in groups, because he ended up having to do most of the work, while everyone took credit for it. The only reason he didn't have straight A's was his lack of participation in class. He just wanted to show up, do things on his own, then leave. But, no. He had to socialize.

Hazel was what you would call a 'teacher's pet', and she was able to make friends with just about everyone. She was a master manipulator, and she wasn't against using that to her advantage to get what she wanted. Thankfully, she wasn't a malicious person, so she usually sweet-talked a teacher into a higher final grade or an extension on a project. This sweet-talking was taking place during Mr. Toreen's class, with Hazel sitting right in the middle of the front row as usual, constantly raising her hand and asking the teacher how his summer went. Mr. Toreen fell for her ploy, and wasted most of the period talking about his trip to the Grand Canyon. Michael sat next to one of the windows, watching the blue sky slowly begin to turn murky and gray, and he pulled out his phone to entertain himself. Unfortunately, Mr. Toreen's classroom didn't have very good service, so Michael was only able to call or text. Knowing he wouldn't be able to get away with making a phone call, he texted Luke instead.

_I'm bored._

Hazel raised her hand again and asked how Mr. Toreen's wife was doing. A chorus of snickering came from the class, and the teacher went on to tell another story when Michael felt his pocket vibrate. He pulled out his phone to read;

_You're supposed to be in class._

Michael bit his lip and replied,

_I've had Mr. Toreen before, he's an idiot who doesn't know how to teach._

Always one to check up on him, Hazel turned to smile at Michael, saw his phone on his lap, and glared disapprovingly. Seeing where her eyes were, Michael popped his middle finger in front of his phone. Hazel huffed and turned back to face front. His phone vibrated again, this time reading,

_Get off your phone, idiot. You really want Dad or Papa coming to pick up your phone on your first day?_

It was Michael's turn to huff as he shoved his phone back in his pocket. He already had enough history of talking back to Mr. Toreen, he didn't need to get in trouble on his first day back. Michael glanced at the clock, and saw that Hazel had successfully managed to stall Mr. Toreen enough to pass the whole forty-five minutes. Right as the teacher began to speak,

"Okay, that's enough sharing about summer break, now, as I was saying…"

Mr. Toreen was interrupted by the ringing of the bell, and everyone in Michael's class raced out of the room to go to lunch, except for a remaining few stragglers, including Michael and Hazel. The teacher sighed and went to his desk, grabbing a stack of papers and offering them to the few students.

"Here. Now you're all more prepared than the rest of the class." Looking more than a little dead inside, Mr. Toreen went to sit at his desk, while Michael and Hazel headed towards the lunchroom with their papers. As soon as they were out of earshot, Michael asked,

"Hey, any reason why you cost everyone a day of work?"

"This way, we have a leg up on our classmates for the rest of the year. Always stay one step ahead!"

Michael stared at her, perplexed. "So, you completely screwed over our whole class to service your ego?"

"I got you ahead, too, right?"

"Y'know what, I've given up trying to understand that sweet, demented brain of yours. It's a mystery to me."

Hazel giggled, readjusting her book bag. "You never want anyone to know what you're going to do next, that's what keeps you on top."

"Jesus Christ, why do you sound like something out of Game of Thrones?" Michael stopped them right in front of the staircase and dropped his book bag to put his paper inside. Hazel kept nudging his side with her foot.

"When you think about it, middle school is kinda like Westeros!"

Michael raised his head in a questioning look. "How high are you?"

Hazel kicked him harder, and continued, "You know, the backstabbing, the lying, the secret alliances…"

"Now if only we could have murder and dragons, then middle school would actually be interesting!" Michael rose from his crouched position and threw his backpack over his shoulders, nudging Hazel with his shoulder, towards the staircase. "Now, c'mon, I'm starving."

Hazel suddenly laughed, the noise echoing throughout the staircases. "I can think of a few people that deserve to be roasted by a dragon…"

"Hazel!"

"What? I'm just saying…"

They continued to joke as they reached the cafeteria, the roar of the entire eighth grade escaping the doors. The lunchroom was massive, with normal lunch tables in the center, and booths on the sides. Michael and Hazel managed to snag a booth near a set of doors, and after setting their things down, went to join the line for lunch. The food that their school offered wasn't ideal, but hey, it was food. After they had gotten what they wanted, they headed back to their booth, and saw another student sitting there. The boy waved and gestured for them to sit. His name was Peter, and he was one of the smallest students in their class. Most of the girls were taller than him at that point, and Peter was bullied more than Hazel and Michael combined, so they decided to turn their duo into a trio and take him under their wing. For how small he was, Peter was comically violent and serious, and was always complaining about something. Today, it was about the food.

"This shit is so fucking disgusting, how are they legally allowed to serve us this?" Peter was also famous for swearing like a sailor, which frequently got him in trouble. The cursing was made even funnier when said by Peter's squeaky voice. It sounded like Mickey Mouse just stubbed his toe on something.

Hazel scoffed. "First of all, language. And second of all, you're lucky you're getting food at all, there are millions of people that are starving right now. I bet they would appreciate your food."

"Good, because I don't want it."

Michael tried to reason with Peter. "It's not bad. It's not gourmet or anything, but it's okay."

"Keep telling yourself that, idiot." Peter said, pushing his glasses up his short nose.

Hazel, in between bites, changed the conversation. "So, what are you guys thinking of doing for the science fair this year?"

"Oh no, not this again." Peter's eye-roll was visible through his thick, shaggy blond hair. Hazel pursed her lips. She wasn't the best at controlling her face when she was mad. Michael and Peter loved to tease her for it, saying she looked like an angry chipmunk, which made her even more mad. Peter continued, "I'm probably just gonna buy a loaf of bread and watch it get moldy. Then I'll explain how it got moldy."

"That doesn't sound very inspired." said Hazel.

Peter responded, with his mouth full, "Well, the beautiful thing about that is, I don't give a fuck."

Hazel said, once again, "Language!" She then turned to Michael. "So, what about you, Einstein?"

"There is no way in hell that I'm telling you anything."

"You sure?"

"Positive. I don't want you knowing my experiment ahead of time so you can out-do me."

Peter interjected, swinging his spork at both Michael and Hazel across from him. "So, what you're saying is that you don't know what to do yet."

"I have a few ideas in mind. But nothing concrete, as of now."

"Yeah, he's got nothing." Peter went back to his food.

After a few minutes talking about plans for the future and what classes they all had, Michael suddenly had an idea. He turned to Hazel.

"So your project, it's gonna blow everyone out of the water, right?"

"You better believe it!"

Michael smirked. "So, your mom's an astrophysicist, right?"

Hazel stopped eating and looked up cautiously. "Yeah…"

Michael shrugged, and continued, "I'm just saying, how amazed and proud she would be if her daughter won gold for a space project. She'd be over the moon!"

Hazel froze, then said, "I need to use the bathroom, excuse me." She then proceeded to not so slyly take her notebook with her. Once she had left, Pater reached across the table and pushed Michael hard enough to make him hit the back of the booth.

"Ow!"

"Dude, are you fucking insane? Space is one of her best subjects, and you just gave that idea to her on a silver platter!"

"Pete, everyone's doing space this year, she's gonna have to try real hard to stand out."

Peter looked at him skeptically. "I still think you just sabotaged yourself."

"You'll see, that was the smartest thing I've done since I got here."

The rest of the day went by uneventfully, just a lot of dull noise. However, gym class was another hell entirely. Michael wasn't necessarily athletic, but even he could do better than Hazel and Peter. Gym was the only class that Hazel couldn't charm her way through, so she made up for this by being absolutely ferocious. Peter was ferocious anyways, so he just followed Hazel's lead. They separated to go and change in their respective locker rooms, and Michael prepared himself for the smell of Axe and premature testosterone. Peter hid behind him easily, but once they were fully inside, among the laughing and banter of the boys already present, Michael heard one of them call out, "Hey, Petey! You look lost. The girl's locker room is that way!"

Michael rolled his eyes and grabbed Peter, walking faster while all the boys began to jeer at them. Peter, never one to back down from a fight, retorted, "Hey, you look lost, too! I think there's a prison a few miles from here!"

"Peter, stop, you're gonna piss them off even more."

The boy, who Michael now recognized as Stan from 8RF, laughed. "Look, guys, he's talking with the balls he doesn't have!" The locker room once again erupted in laughter. Michael grabbed Peter by his collar and dragged him to a stall where he could safely change. And, of course, Stan and his friends followed, getting uncomfortably close to Michael.

"Can I help you?" asked Michael, crossing his arms.

"You're not much better than him, you know." Stan jeered.

Michael sucked his teeth. "So, are you going to tell me something I don't know, or are you just gonna keep on being stupid?"

"Watch your mouth, retard."

"That's not a nice thing to say to anyone, but then again, you're a shitty human being, so I'm not surprised." Michael raised his eyebrows.

Stan growled, getting even closer. His breath reeked, and Michael turned away to save his nose from the torture. Michael flinched from the sudden noise as Stan yelled in his ear, "That's a lot of backtalk from someone who could have no teeth in a minute."

"You really want to get suspended on the first day of school? Be my guest."

One of the boys behind Stan tapped Stan on the shoulder. "Dude, Coach Retner just called all of us out to the gym."

It had been so loud in the boys locker room that they hadn't heard their gym teacher blowing the whistle for their attendance. They all rushed out, leaving Michael and Peter alone. Peter slowly opened the door, poking his head out. "They're gone, right?"

"Yeah, man, you're good."

Once Peter had calmed down, he returned to normal. "Fucking assholes."

"Hey, stop that! You're already a target to them as it is, stop provoking them!" They both headed out to the gym, where mostly everyone was sitting in the lines that the coach had given to them. Knowing full well the dynamics of her students at this point, Coach Retner put Hazel, Michael, and Peter close to each other, and kept all of the trouble students far away from their usual victims. After taking attendance, their coach had them run laps.

Lots of laps.

Wanting to make sure Hazel and Peter were okay, Michael purposefully ran slower and stuck with them. The coach had put on music to make their experience a bit easier, but it didn't help once Michael's heartbeat got louder than the speakers. Thankfully, students were allowed to rest once they felt seriously out of breath. The three of them stopped by Coach Retner to drink from the water fountain, and on their way back, she stopped them.

"Hey, we're going to do some independent activities in a few minutes, would you guys go and get some things for me from the gym closet? Here. I'll make a list."

Thankful to not be running anymore, Michael, Hazel, and Peter took the list and ventured on their fetch mission. However, as soon as they got into the closet, they heard a voice from behind them.

"Hey, maybe they're gonna take turns with her!" Immediately after, the door slammed shut, engulfing the three in darkness. Michael ran to the door and slammed into it, and desperately tried turning the handle, but it was no use. The door locked by itself whenever it was closed, and the knob wasn't budging.

"Help!"

"We're locked in here!"

"Somebody fucking help us!"

Calling for help was no use, either, as the speakers were still blasting music loud enough to drown out their voices. Michael found something to stabilize himself and leaned heavily on it, breathing deeply. As Hazel and Peter continued to cry for help, Michael slowly sank to the floor, feeling his chest become tight and his breath become shorter and shorter. Sweat rose on his skin and he began to cough and choke.

"_Mommy, let me out, please!"_

_No answer. The four year old Michael stopped crying as he heard footsteps coming closer and closer to the closet where he was. He heard his mother say,_

"_Are you going to be a good boy?"_

"_Yes, Mommy." Michael stammered between tears._

_Once again, no answer. Then, "Good little boys don't cry like little girls." His mother then walked away, leaving him alone again._

"_MOMMY!"_

"Michael, are you okay?!"

Hazel's voice stunned Michael back to present day, and Peter was still banging on the door and shouting profanities, while Hazel helped Michael up, rubbing his back.

"It's okay, breathe. That's it, in and out." As Michael struggled to calm down, the music outside stopped, and Peter began to scream even louder.

"WE'RE STUCK IN HERE, SOMEONE LET US THE FUCK OUT!"

With that, they could hear the voice of Coach Retner, calling out. "Oh my goodness!" The door swung open to reveal their teacher, along with the entirety of their class, laughing wildly.

"Are you okay? Are any of you hurt? What happened?!"

Peter was the first to speak. "That cunt locked us in here!" He pointed at Stan while the class gasped, along with Coach Retner. She exclaimed,

"Peter! That is highly inappropriate, detention!"

"Yeah, Pete, children shouldn't use those kinds of words." Stan smirked, but his smile quickly melted off as Coach Retner continued, "You're not off the hook, either, Mr. Greene! I'll be expecting to see you after class!" The coach turned her attention back to the trio, while the class devolved back into talking. Coach Retner gestured for the three of them to follow her into her office. Once inside, she said,

"Are you alright?"

Hazel answered. "Peter and I are fine, but Michael freaked out. He sounded like he couldn't breathe."

"Thank you, Hazel. You and Peter can leave now, I'd like to speak with Michael alone."

The pair left, leaving just Michael and Coach Retner. She gazed at him, concerned. "Are you going to be alright? You looked pretty shaken up back there."

Michael was quick to dismiss her, saying, "I'll be okay, I'm just a bit claustrophobic. It's no big deal."

"Do you want to call your parents?"

Michael suddenly felt his breath get shallow again. "I'd really rather not."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely positive."

Before his teacher could continue, the last bell of the day blared, and Michael used this as an escape, exclaiming, "See you tomorrow!"

Michael bolted out of Coach Retner's office and into the boy's locker room, grabbing both his and Peter's things. As he sped towards the exit, he threw Peter's things at him and yelled, "Don't go back in there, you'll get killed!"

Michael ran past all the classrooms and finally made it to the boy's bathroom, which was noticeably quieter than the gym. Knowing that he could change and leave unbothered gave Michael some peace of mind. Once he had changed back into his regular clothes, he splashed cold water on his face, and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like death, with sunken eyes and pale skin. He slapped himself a few times to get the blood pumping, then continued on his way out of the building. To his dismay, as he approached the glass doors of his school, he saw that it was still pouring rain outside. He grumbled, putting his book bag down and fishing for his umbrella. Once he found it, he went outside, opened it, and finally started to go home.

Thunder roared over Michael's head as he began his twenty-block journey, with an occasional bolt of lighting illuminating the green sky. He had to do some long jumps over puddles for every few blocks, and about halfway home, Michael was regretting not taking the subway. Still, he pressed on home, and he soon reached his building and went inside, and the sound of rain became muffled and far away. He continued on to his apartment, praying that no one was home yet so he could relax. He finally reached the third floor, and entered his apartment.

He called out, and received no answer.

Sweet silence.


	7. Chapter Seven: Marinara

_Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars._

_Let me see what spring is like on jupiter and mars._

_In other words, hold my hand._

_In other words, baby kiss me_

The sweet, strong aroma of freshly made coffee punctuated Frank Sinatra's smooth voice, and Kurt felt warm inside as he hung up his jacket, listening to the bustling of his kids as they finished their chores. He went inside his room, watching the pouring rain outside slow to a normal pace, pattering against the window and clinking on the air conditioner. The thunder sounded far away at that point, but Kurt wasn't sure, seeing as how the AC was blasting too loud for him to be certain. He tossed his bag onto the bed and kicked off his shoes, collapsing into the mattress. Kurt felt the rumbled blanket beneath him, and realized that the bed wasn't made, so he hastily got up and smoothed out the cream-colored sheets. Kurt couldn't recall when exactly he and Blaine had settled into their 'old married couple' routine. They always gave off that vibe to other people, but it took a while after their wedding to actually have fallen out of infatuation and into comfort. Kurt suspected it was when Luke was born, but even then, he and Blaine were still getting used to being parents, so as soon as they got used to each other, they had to learn how to raise a child. That raised a whole new set of problems and issues to overcome, but even then, Kurt couldn't imagine his life without his family, no matter what difficulties arose.

He made his way into the kitchen, where Luke and Liz were already occupying the small space, having to dodge each other every minute or so to avoid collisions. Their kitchen could comfortably fit two people, but three people made the room feel cramped, so Lizzie ducked underneath the freezer door that Luke had just opened, and escaped, stepping to the side to let Kurt pass. Kurt squeezed her nose, and Lizzie whined.

"No, stop!" Lizzie failed to hide a smile and wriggled away from her father while Kurt laughed. Her hair had finally started to dry, and Kurt wished he could say the same about himself. His hair was still messy and damp, but he was home and dry otherwise, so he couldn't care less. Kurt turned and saw Luke, busy with the before-dinner dishes. His son was trying and failing to scrub something off a plate that was left in the sink overnight, and he looked increasingly agitated.

Luke called out, "Liz!"

The two men heard a "Yeah?" come from the living room, and when Luke didn't answer, they heard a sigh, then the squeaking of the couch moving. A few seconds later, Lizzie came back into the kitchen, arms crossed.

"Why couldn't you tell me what you wanted without me getting up?"

"You were supposed to do dishes last night, why am I doing them?" Luke raised his eyebrows while Liz purposefully avoided his gaze, clenching her jaw.

"I kinda forgot…"

"Yeah, that's code for 'I was too lazy to do them'."

"I really did forget, though!"

Kurt chimed in. "Okay, sweetheart, you're doing the dinner dishes, then, since Luke is doing the job you said you would do yesterday."

"Coffee _and _dishes, that's not fair!"

"You left your shit for me to do the next day, it's totally fair!"

"Lucas."

"Sorry, dad, but she always does this! She 'forgets' to do dishes, she 'forgets' to take out the garbage, and she 'forgets' to clean her room! I'm always the one that has to do her work!"

Lizzie defended herself. "But I really do forget! I don't do it on purpose, you really think I like being a dumbass that forgets basic things every five minutes?"

Kurt, tired of all the arguing, concluded everything with, "Alright, Luke, stop yelling at your sister, you know she didn't mean any harm. Lizzie, you need to start being proactive about your chores. Put reminders in your phone, and if you need to, ask me or Papa for help." Kurt added, "And I'm helping you clean your room this weekend, it's obvious that you can't do it by yourself."

With that, Liz sucked her teeth, glaring daggers at her brother, and left, leaving Luke and Kurt alone again. Luke went back to scrubbing the plate, while Kurt said,

"You know she's telling the truth, right?"

Luke grumbled. "Of course I know, but it's really annoying when I have to pick up after her. It's always chores, too! It's always things that she doesn't want to do that she forgets about."

"She can't help it, bud, don't be so hard on her." Kurt opened the fridge to see if they had any pasta sauce, while Luke finished the dishes. "How was work?"

Kurt saw Luke hesitate as he dried his hands. Luke muttered, "Pretty boring, actually. It got quiet after the rain started." Luke then tried to escape the kitchen, but Kurt put a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay? You seem kinda off…"

Luke gently shifted so that he was out of Kurt's reach, turning away from him and slinking out of the kitchen. As he was leaving, Luke said,

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. Work was fine." Luke spoke so fast that Kurt almost couldn't understand him, leaving Kurt perplexed and a bit concerned. He managed to find marinara at the back of the fridge, but it was frozen solid. He sighed, opened it, and put it in the microwave, placing a paper towel on top to protect the microwave from stains. As he was doing this, he heard two pairs of feet walk into the kitchen, then he felt a pair of small arms wrap around him.

"What is it, Lizzie?"

"Hi."

"All you want is to say hi?" Kurt laughed. "Okay, then. Hello to you, too!" Kurt turned to give his daughter a proper hug, and saw Michael sneaking food from the stove.

"Hey! No food before dinner, how many times do I have to tell you?" Michael hastily threw the spoon he was using into the sink.

"Sorry… I'm really hungry, though."

Liz peeked from behind Kurt to chime in. "Didn't Dad tell you not to eat before dinner on Saturday?"

"None of your business, Walters."

"Woah, someone's snippy tonight."

Kurt was about to step in and calm things down before Michael interrupted.

"I had a shit day at school, all right? Get off my ass!"

Lizzie snickered. "What, did Hazel annoy you all day?"

Michael looked like he was about to explode when Kurt interjected. "Liz, living room. Now, please."

Despite her earlier taunting, Lizzie looked at Michael a bit more softly. "Hey, it was a joke. I'm sorry if I took it too far." She then left Michael and Kurt alone.

Michael looked more angry than anything, and Kurt rubbed his shoulder, asking,

"Hey, what happened at school, you okay? Do you want to talk about it, or-"

"No, it's fine, I can't change what happened, but I can forget about it, now. I'm good, Dad." Before Kurt could get another word in, Michael left the kitchen. Kurt sighed, leaning against the counter, feeling frustrated. If Luke was any indication, having teenagers would be difficult, and Kurt wasn't sure how to approach them and communicate with them. He counted himself lucky, though, seeing as how a lot of teenagers just stopped speaking with their parents altogether. Luke's issues in high school had been solved, but now he felt useless and bored. Lizzie had been going to counseling for months at that point, but she still had a long way to go. And Michael was dealing with high school applications, and the school science fair, not to mention his numerous behavioral issues. Kurt rubbed his eyes, and while in darkness, the microwave beeped. Kurt took the sauce out, and to his dismay, it was still partly frozen. Not caring anymore in the slightest, he just took out a knife and started stabbing the frozen center to break it up and thaw it out faster. As he was massacring the marinara sauce, Kurt heard the apartment door open and close behind him, followed by the clicking of the lock. No sooner had he finished breaking up the sauce when he felt another pair of arms wrap around him from behind, much larger than Lizzie's.

"Need any help?" Blaine asked, resting his chin on Kurt's shoulder. He then caught sight of the knife Kurt was holding. "Should I be worried, or…?"

"The sauce was frozen."

Blaine laughed, letting go of Kurt. "Okay, nevermind. Totally understandable."

Kurt put the knife in the sink, and in doing so, saw that the front of his shirt was covered in spaghetti sauce. "God damn it!"

"Are you okay? Did you cut yourself with the knife?"

Kurt turned to face Blaine and held his arms out. Blaine struggled not to laugh.

"You look like you just murdered someone."

"Shut up!" At that point, Kurt was struggling not to laugh himself, while Blaine was openly snickering. Kurt took the dish towel that was resting on the counter and flung it at Blaine, nailing him right in the face. Blaine stumbled backwards, giggling madly as he tossed the towel right back at Kurt. He regained his composure before he continued,

"You want me to finish up in here while you change?"

"You just got home, go and relax, I'm okay!"

Blaine shrugged, and left, and Kurt thought that was the end of it. However, Blaine returned to the kitchen, now in comfortable clothes, and once again, insisted,

"Go and change, I can do the rest."

"Honey, I'm fine."

Blaine got close to Kurt, and Kurt rolled his eyes, smiling. Blaine wouldn't back down.

"I'm not leaving."

Kurt shot back, "Good, I could use the company while I finish dinner."

"Kurt!"

"What?" Kurt laughed, facing Blaine with a cocky smirk. Blaine gave him a quick peck on the lips, and Kurt pulled away, disgusted.

"Did you eat pickles today?"

Blaine grinned stupidly. "Yeah, everyone in the ensemble went to Wendy's for lunch. Now, either you go and change, or I'm going to keep trying to kiss you!"

"Ugh, no, get away from me!" Kurt wrestled free of his husband and left the kitchen, smiling to himself. He got to his room to see that he had company. Fester was stretched out at the foot of his bed, tail flopping back and forth. Fester began to purr as Kurt rubbed behind his ears, and Kurt saw that Fester was laying on top of a clean shirt.

"Okay, you're gonna have to move, buddy, I need that shirt." Kurt tried unsuccessfully to tug the shirt out from under Fester, and when he tried to nudge the cat away, Fester wouldn't budge. Kurt sighed, biting his lip. "_Fine._ You win, I'll go find another shirt, you asshole."

It took a fair amount of time for Kurt to pick out something that was warm, seeing as how all the air conditioners were blasting arctic winds. When he finally managed to find something, he heard a knock on the bedroom door behind him. A voice called from outside,

"Dinner's ready, sweetie!"

"I'll be out in a minute!"

"Can I come in?"

Kurt shed the stained top he was wearing, responding, "Knock yourself out."

He heard the door open and close behind him, and as he was turning the shirt he had found right-side-out, he saw Blaine staring at him from the corner of his eye.

"See something you like?" Kurt's voice became muffled as he tugged his new shirt over his head. Blaine pouted.

"Not anymore, I don't."

Kurt pulled his shirt down and looked across the bed at Blaine, who looked like someone had cancelled Christmas. Kurt chuckled.

"My pain is not funny!"

"What pain, the pain of not seeing me shirtless?"

"Exactly."

Kurt knelt on the bed and pulled Blaine in for a hug. "You poor baby." Blaine wriggled out of the embrace, still upset. Kurt laughed, laying down on his stomach. Blaine sat cross-legged next to him, and Kurt felt a hand not so slyly slip under his shirt. He turned to look at Blaine, raising an eyebrow.

"And what exactly do you think you're doing?"

Blaine scoffed, acting offended. "Appreciating how handsome you are, duh!"

"Well, that's going to wait until after dinner, because I'm hungry."

"You're no fun."

"Whine all you want, I'm still hungry." Kurt sat up, forcing Blaine to remove his hand. They both stood to leave their room, and Blaine had to have the last word in.

"Hopefully you won't stain another shirt."

"Oh, be quiet!"


	8. Chapter Eight: Diggory

_August 2030_

_New York City was loud. Really loud. Michael had to cover his ears to block everything out. He was sitting in the back of a car, sandwiched between two of his friends. The one to his left was named Luke, and he was a lot bigger than Michael. He was six years, three months, and eighteen days older than him. He had black glasses and braces, and he loved playing Pokemon. He loved showing Michael his collection when Michael was upset, so that made him really cool._

_To Michael's right, was a girl. Not much older than him, but still bigger than him. She had wild curly brown hair and tan skin. She was very loud. She loved to talk to Michael, about anything and everything. Her name was Liz, and Liz was emotional. Every time something would happen, Liz would react much more than Michael would. It was always obvious when she was upset. But, when she was happy, she was very fun to play with._

_Sitting in the front of the car were his friend's parents. He was still nervous around them, but they seemed really nice. Nicer than anyone had been to him, ever. The one driving, that's the one that Luke and Liz referred to as 'Dad'. He was the tallest out of all of them, and he had blue eyes, like water. Michael came to the conclusion that 'Dad' didn't like driving, because he complained about everyone else on the road. The man sitting next to him, 'Papa', was the one calming him down, and every now and then, he would turn back and check on him and his friends. Luke was asleep, his cheek awkwardly pressed against the window, while Lizzie was happily fidgeting with a Rubix Cube, humming something that Michael had never heard before. Michael, shy but bored out of his mind, gently nudged her._

"_What's that you're humming?"_

_Lizzie turned towards him, flashing a smile. "It's from the Sound of Music! Sixteen Going On Sixteen! It's my favorite."_

_Papa chimed in from the passenger's seat. "Sweetie, it's Sixteen Going On Seventeen, but you were close!"_

_Not missing a beat, Lizzie continued to ramble. "Yeah, that! Dad and Papa put the movie on when I don't feel good. My favorite character is Maria, 'cause she's got a pretty voice, and-"_

"_I hate to interrupt, Ladybug, but we're home."_

"_Oh."_

_Michael looked outside to see a sidewalk, illuminated by a weak streetlight. Other than that, he couldn't see much. Michael wasn't too fond of dark spaces, so he considered staying in the car until the sun came back. However, he felt Luke shift next to him, stretching and yawning._

"_Can we go to bed when we get up there?"_

_Papa answered. "We need to get Michael settled, remember? Dad and I will try to make it quick, but you and Michael share a room, now. We need to get his things up before anyone goes to bed."_

_Michael sat huddled in the back as Liz got out of the car, and a warm breeze graced him as the car door opened to his right. He could hear far away car horns and yelling, with words that Michael didn't quite understand. He brought his knees up to his chest, pressing his sneakers against the car seat, feeling the fabric cushion his heels. He was suddenly intensely interested in the floor, which was decorated by decapitated Goldfish crackers. He managed to count six of them before he felt a hand on his shoulder, startling him._

"_You ready to get out, buddy?"_

_Michael looked to his right to see Dad, smiling at him. Michael shook his head, burying his face in his knees. He felt the hand on his shoulder start rubbing his back._

"_Why not?"_

"_Mommy said that bad men come out in the dark and hurt people." Michael lifted his head to see that the entire family was on the sidewalk, looking worried._

_Lizzie spoke, still twisting her Rubix cube. "I used to believe in monsters when I was little, but then I started to take karate classes, so now I can kick anyone's butt! If bad men try and hurt you, I can kick their butt!"_

_Papa was next to speak. "It's okay, Michael, Dad and I will hold your hand on our way back to the apartment."_

"_Dad and Papa are really good at keeping us safe, and if it makes you feel any better, I can sleep with the lights on." Luke chimed in, leaning over Dad's shoulder to help him out of the car. Dad stepped aside and let Luke persuade Michael to get out. Michael stumbled while he stepped out, clinging onto the person nearest to him, which happened to be Lizzie. She enveloped him in a giant hug, grinning wildly. As Michael struggled to escape, the trunk door opened, and Luke, Dad, and Papa all began to take Michael's things out of the trunk. _

_One such thing that caught his eye was his stuffed wolf, Diggory. The plush toy was in rough shape, having been destroyed more than once by various events. The most recent event still played over and over again in Michael's head, with his mother's screaming and crying refusing to leave his brain. She had taken Diggory and pulled him apart in front of Michael, saying how he was too old for stuffed animals, and that sleeping with them made him soft and weak. He waited until she was asleep to gather up Diggory's mutilated body and try and glue him back together, unsuccessfully. For the next few days, Michael carried Diggory in his backpack, not knowing what to do to fix him. It wasn't until Luke had noticed him fiddling with stuffing that he approached, asking to help. That was how Michael had met Luke's family, and everything happened very fast after that._

_Michael told Luke what happened with his mom, and Luke told his grandparents. He didn't remember much, but he remembered sitting at a table with Luke and his grandparents, and they kept asking him if his mom had done anything else bad to him. Michael told them about everything, how she locked him in closets for hours on end, how she locked him outside all night on one occasion, and how she regularly destroyed his things as punishments. The next thing he knew, some policemen were asking him the same questions over and over, and Michael got scared, falling silent. He also remembered one of the men telling him that his mom was very sick, and that she couldn't take care of him anymore. He was sent to live with people he didn't know, but he always visited Luke and his grandparents. In fact, he spent more time with Luke's family than his new one. After a few days, Michael got to meet Luke's younger sister, Lizzie. She was the human equivalent of a firecracker, she was always moving. Michael always wondered where Luke and Lizzie's parents were, but Luke never wanted to talk about it, and Lizzie didn't know anything. But, she always remained optimistic._

"_They're going to come and get us soon, they said so at Christmas! They always call us to ask how we're doing, they live in New York! Well, Luke and I live in New York, too, but we're living with Mimi and Grandpa right now. It's like a vacation, Luke and I had to switch schools! Not many people like me, though. But you like me, right?"_

_Understanding Lizzie was a skill that Michael had to practise, because she talked a million miles an hour, but he got the hang of it after a few weeks. Eventually, Luke and Lizzie's parents did end up visiting, and Luke was happier than Michael had ever seen him. He was insisting that Michael come and meet them, so Michael was helpless as Luke held onto his wrist and dragged him to his house. As it turned out, Luke's parents knew quite a bit about Michael, as they had been filled in by Luke's grandparents, as well as Luke himself. He sat close to Luke the whole evening, leaning on him, while Luke's parents talked to him. The conversation was a blur, but one question would stay with him for years._

"_How would you feel about living with us?"_

Present Day (September, 2039)

Michael wiped some sauce from the corner of his mouth as he ate, earning a stern look from his parents. He smiled widely, no doubt still having sauce on his mouth. He sat closest to the window, in one of the two armchairs. Kurt sat in the other, next to him. Luke and Blaine sat on the couch, and Lizzie sat cross-legged on the floor. She was inhaling her pasta at an impressive rate, and Michael thought she would choke for a good few minutes. Unsurprisingly, she was finished before everyone else and kneeled to get up and go to her room, but one glance from Kurt made her sit back down. She fidgeted with her socks, pulling them back up to her knees, wiggling her toes. Lizzie's fashion sense was questionable, to say the least. She always managed to be put together outside the house, but in the comfort of their apartment, she didn't put forward any effort into her appearance. She usually had on a shirt three sizes too big for her, basketball shorts, and knee socks that never matched. Lizzie was also a known clothing thief, as she regularly wore shirts belonging to the rest of the members of the family. Today, she was wearing a shirt emblazoned with the words '2036 Spelling Bee Championship', which rightfully belonged to Luke. And as soon as Michael noticed, so did his brother.

"Yo, that's my shirt!"

Lizzie looked down at her front, confused. "It is? Shit, I'm sorry, Luke."

"Take it off!"

"But I don't have any other clean shirts!" This comment caught Blaine's attention.

"Didn't we tell you to do your laundry this weekend?" Blaine raised his eyebrows at his daughter, who was now biting her lip and looking slightly guilty and embarrassed. Blaine sighed, putting down his bowl, while Kurt picked up where he left off.

"Sweetheart, you can't keep procrastinating on your chores. We need to have a serious discussion about your time management, because this is getting ridiculous!"

Lizzie uncrossed her legs and folded her hands on her lap, looking even more embarrassed. "I know, I don't mean to! God, I hate feeling like this!"

"Like what?" Luke asked.

She unclasped her hands and crossed her arms. "Like I have a million pop-up ads in my head that I can't get rid of. I can't remember shit, and it's annoying!"

"Have you talked about this with Doctor Alethea? He might be able to help, honey." Kurt got up and began collecting the dishes, and Luke followed to help. Lizzie ran her fingers through her hair, her eyebrows upturned with worry.

"He wouldn't understand…"

"It's his job to understand us, stupid."

"Michael!"

"Sorry."

Blaine got off the couch and sat next to Liz. "Liz, we hired Dr. Alethea for a reason, he did an amazing job helping Michael, and you and Luke really needed some guidance, so that's why you two started seeing him. Don't be afraid to bring up anything with him, okay?"

"Wait, so does this mean that Dr. A is the family's quack doctor?" Michael finished his bowl and set it down, once more wiping his face.

"Don't call him that, it's unprofessional!" Michael heard Luke call out from the kitchen.

"I've been seeing him way longer than you, that gives me seniority! Besides, Dr. A is all about me doing what makes me feel comfortable, so suck it!"

"Michael!"

"What? What did I do wrong, now?" Michael huffed indignantly, crossing his arms. Blaine gave him a '_careful what you say next'_ look from across the room, and Liz rolled her eyes.

"Mikey, you gotta stop with the attitude, it's starting to get on everyone's nerves."

"Coming from the girl that's literally attitude incarnate?"

Lizzie stopped herself, and thought for a second. "Good one. But, seriously, at least I'm trying to reign myself in!"

Michael felt his pulse quicken as his face began to heat up. "Listen, I get it. I'm a troubled child, and I desperately need help, I've heard it all before. Save it."

Lizzie quickly softened her tone, and continued, "Michael, that's not what I was saying at all! Luke and I have issues, too, and I had one hell of an attitude back in middle school. I'm just saying that, when you talk about yourself like that, you make everyone around you a bit uncomfortable."

"I don't care."

"Well, you should."

"Well, I don't." Michael felt like he had a rock sitting at the bottom of his stomach. He shifted uncomfortably, and muttered, "Can I be excused, now? I had a bad day at school, and I really want to go to bed."

At that moment, Kurt and Luke left the kitchen, both looking equally concerned. Kurt asked, "You wanna tell us about what happened, or are you going to brush us off, like you did earlier?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Tough. Your father and I want to know what happened. Luke, Liz, rooms, come on."

With that, Luke and Liz headed off towards the hallway, to their rooms. As soon as both doors could be heard closing, Kurt went over and helped Blaine up from the floor, grabbing his hand and pulling him upright. They both sat on the couch, with a space in between them that was clearly meant for Michael. Michael grumbled and reluctantly got up and moved to the couch, sitting at the very edge of the cushion, hugging himself.

"Relax, bud, it's okay."

"It's really not, but thanks anyways."

Michael sat more normally, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. He could see the insane amount of cracks and stains decorating it, which was a frequent issue with people in their apartment building, but the superintendent was too lazy to do anything about it. Michael could see a new stain forming near one of the corners, and as he shifted his head back to look forward, Blaine spoke.

"Okay, what happened?"

Michael bit his lip and looked at his lap. "I had to deal with a lot of idiots today, that's all. No big deal."

"Okay, that sounds like a very big deal. Dealing with idiots, how? What did they do?" asked Kurt, looking more and more concerned.

Michael remembered how helpless he had felt when trapped in that dark closet, and he knew that his parents would treat him like a child if he told them what actually happened. So he tried to lie.

"They just annoyed me during class, and I had a few choice words to say to them. Nothing major."

Kurt and Blaine exchanged looks of disbelief, and Blaine continued, "Alright, now tell us what really happened."

_Damn it._

Michael clenched his teeth as he spoke. "During gym, some kids locked Peter, Hazel, and I in the supply closet as a joke. And I freaked out a bit. But I'm fine now, I promise."

And, as expected, Kurt and Blaine immediately started babying him. Before the doting attention got to a nauseating level, Michael wrestled himself out of their embrace, muttered a quick 'Good night, love you.', and rushed to his room before they could protest. As soon as he shut the door, the babying only continued.

"Hey man, you alright?"

Michael flopped onto the bottom bunk, messing up the thick comforter that lay atop it. He rested his head on his pillow, and turned to answer Luke, who had returned to typing on his laptop.

"Yeah, I'm good." A pause. "Middle school fucking sucks."

Luke's voice came from the top bunk once again. "Don't I know it. Oh, don't forget to turn on your lights."

"Shit, I forgot." Michael reached over to the outlet on the nightstand next to their bunk bed, and plugged in his special lights. They were meant for Christmas, but Michael didn't really care. This way, Luke could sleep without having to wear an eye mask. Once the light had been turned off, the only sound that could be heard was the clicking of Luke's keyboard and the pattering of lingering rain outside. Michael turned and saw that Diggory had been knocked to the floor beside their bed, so he relocated him next to his pillow. It had been years since Michael had actually paid attention to his old toy, but upon further inspection, he saw that the stuffed wolf was missing an eye, one of his legs was attached by a few dozen threads, and there was uneven, clumsy stitching holding him together.

But, he was still going strong, so that made Michael smile to himself.


	9. Chapter Nine: Dish Soap

Water could be heard running in the kitchen as Blaine headed towards the hallway, and the shadow he saw possessed curly hair, so it was no surprise to him when he rounded the corner and saw his daughter finishing the after-dinner dishes. She was still clearly irritated about it, and didn't bother to wipe the pout off her face as Blaine approached. It was hard to deny that Liz was adorable when she was upset, as her round face made her look like a doll. The braces that she had also made her lips stick out a bit, and when she smiled, her eyes crinkled up and her nose scrunched in the cutest way. Even when she was angry, Blaine thought that Liz was precious.

And she hated it.

She hated it when people said she looked 'cute'. She didn't want to look cute, she wanted to look like a force to be reckoned with! And she was, she had taken self-defense classes for many years, so she could handle herself quite well. She had the advantage of being unsuspecting, so she could use the element of surprise when needed. No one thought that a little girl could beat them senseless. And then, they would be doubled-over in pain. It was Lizzie's secret weapon.

She was furiously scrubbing a stained bowl, splashing soap and water all over the sink, when Blaine approached her, grabbing a dish towel off the counter.

"You want me to help dry?"

Lizzie turned to look at him, clearly tired, a stray curl hanging in her face. "Yes, please."

It was silent for about five minutes as she finished the dishes, with nothing but the sound of running water and clinking dishes echoing off the kitchen walls. For someone who had such precision while fighting, Blaine thought it endearing that Lizzie was so clumsy most of the time. Of course, clumsy wasn't the best thing to be when washing things that are easily broken. Blaine was putting a bowl back in the cupboard when he heard a swear, followed by a wet clatter. He immediately closed the cupboard door to see a plastic cup on the floor, and his daughter covered in soapy water. After stifling a laugh, Blaine handed the dish towel to Lizzie, who now looked as though she was ready to explode.

"You can leave the rest for me, if you want."

"I'll do them tomorrow morning."

"Before school?"

"... If you want to do the rest of the dishes, I would really appreciate it."

"That's the answer I wanted. Now, go to bed. Like I said, you have school tomorrow, and it's almost nine thirty."

"That's not that late, Papa."

"For kids, it is. Bed, now." Blaine ushered his disheveled offspring out the door with a hug and a 'Good night, love you.' Before Liz had a chance to leave, Blaine suddenly remembered their conversation on the subway that morning.

"How was school today?" Blaine knew that his daughter was a complaint machine if she had a bad day, and there had been nothing of the sort since he got home. Liz stopped in her tracks, dropped her head, and sighed.

"It was fine." she mumbled. Blaine cracked a grin.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

She spun around, clearly trying to be intimidating. Seeing as how she began laughing halfway through her statement, she wasn't successful. "It was fine, you were right!" Lizzie's nose scrunched up as she flashed Blaine with a metal smile, sticking her tongue out.

"I'm sorry, who was right?"

"You were!" With this, Lizzie spun back around dramatically, and marched off to bed. Blaine giggled to himself as he finished the dishes. He was happy that, at the moment, it seemed like Liz had found a school that she felt comfortable in. He wished he could say the same for Michael, who had been struggling at P.S./I.S. 905 for two years at that point. He always seemed to manage just fine, but he wasn't winning any popularity contests. Still, Michael was proud of his abilities and had two good friends, so that put Blaine's mind at ease, if only for a little while. Hazel and Peter were wonderful (if not a bit eccentric), but Michael felt comfortable around them.

As Blaine was drying his hands, he heard an odd vocalization come from the floor. He looked down to see Tracy lying at his feet, looking up at him with big, brown eyes. He could tell that she was trying to beg for more food (or possibly attention, it was hard to tell). Blaine knelt to the floor and began scratching behind her ear, and the dog tilted her head back and gifted him a goofy smile, tongue hanging out. Soon enough, Blaine was rubbing her stomach as she laid on her back, paws dangling in the air. He had gotten Tracy about a year after Michael had been moved in, and she had been just the thing that they all needed to get back in the swing of normal life. While everyone in the family treated her as theirs, technically, Tracy was Blaine's therapy dog. Even after Kurt had made a full recovery, Blaine was still having nightmares, and had some trouble adjusting to normal life again. He couldn't seem to convince himself that Kurt was healthy, he was always so obsessed over worrying about his husband. Luckily, through a bit of therapy and medication (and puppy love), Blaine slowly, but surely, managed to get a grip on himself, and start truly feeling comfortable again. Still, there were rare instances of Blaine having an episode, or a freak nightmare, but it was so that Blaine knew how to calm himself down after said instances, if Kurt or Tracy wasn't nearby. He was thankful to still have Kurt at all, looking back on how many times he could have lost him.

The laughing started as a small chuckle, then snickering, then a full on, stomach-aching laugh. He sat on the floor, and Tracy got up to smother him, which led to Blaine being forced to the floor. His glasses were almost pushed off his face as the golden retriever attacked him with kisses, and he thought that he might die from air loss for a good few seconds. Then, as though an angel had been sent to rescue him, Blaine heard a soft voice.

"Tracy, come."

The dog retreated from atop Blaine, and he adjusted his glasses to see Kurt standing in the kitchen doorway. He was in pajamas, at that point, sweatpants and an old t-shirt. Tracy ventured over to him and leaned her full body weight against him, causing Kurt to groan softly.

"Lay down."

Tracy soon disappeared into the living room, and Kurt returned his attention to Blaine, who was still sprawled on the floor. He smiled warmly, nose scrunching up the same way that Blaine saw Elizabeth's do before she went to bed.

"Need a hand, honey?" Kurt extended his arm and helped Blaine off the floor. They both stumbled as Blaine regained his footing, and Kurt leaned on the counter to keep steady.

As Blaine steadied himself, as well, he noticed that Kurt was wearing one of his old t-shirts. It had always been far too big for him. However, it fit Kurt like a glove, which made Blaine a bit jealous. Kurt caught Blaine staring, and said,

"I'm sorry, it was clean, and I don't have any more old shirts to wear for pajamas…" This was followed by a sheepish smile. Blaine adored the soft way that Kurt spoke when he was tired.

"Don't you have actual pajamas that you can wear? Like, professional sets of silk PJ's?" Blaine tugged at the hem of the shirt, noticing that there was a new hole that had joined the three other ones.

"You know as well as I do that children and pets make messes and ruin good clothes…"

Blaine counteracted, "All three of them are old enough to not make stupid messes anymore. Plus, Tracy and Fester are trained."

"You can never be too careful…"

Blaine hummed contentedly, moving his hands to rest on Kurt's hips, his right index finger trailing underneath the old shirt and stroking bare skin. "I love it when you're all responsible."

This utterance had the opposite effect as to what Blaine was expecting. Rather than Kurt playing along, he started _laughing,_ much to Blaine's chagrin. Once Kurt had calmed himself down, he explained,

"That was the saddest attempt at seduction that's ever come out of you. And that's a really low bar." Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine's shoulders. Despite his cheesy words, Blaine still received a kiss, which soon turned into Kurt leaning fully against the counter as Blaine leaned into him. He sucked on Kurt's lower lip, earning a quiet groan from the taller man. As soon as Blaine could feel Kurt's tongue begin to slip into his mouth-

"_Uh…"_

They broke apart and whipped their heads around to see Michael, sporting an uncomfortable poker face. The thirteen-year-old looked like death warmed over.

"Hey, why aren't you in bed, buddy?" asked Blaine.

Awkward silence. "Well, now I wish I'd stayed in bed. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to get water from the bathroom, instead."

Kurt was quick to stop him. "Hey, hey, what's wrong? You look sick, why are you up this late? You feeling okay?"

"Jesus, I just wanted water! I mean, after seeing that, maybe bleach is a better option…"

"Very funny. Seriously, you sure you're alright?" Kurt asked once more.

Michael sucked his teeth, still red in the face, and dodged his father's question. "Nevermind. Goodnight, love you."

Before Kurt and Blaine could protest, Michael slipped out of the kitchen and back to his room. Blaine sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You think he had another nightmare?"

"No, Luke would have told us already."

Blaine continued, "He's had his flu shot this year, right?"

"He has, yeah."

"You think it could be a cold? Or strep?"

Kurt, looking just as exasperated as Blaine felt, answered. "Maybe. We'll see what he looks like tomorrow."

Kurt's reassuring attitude put Blaine's mind at ease, if only a little bit. While it may have been easy to see if their son was upset, getting him to tell them why was like wrestling a bear. It baffled them as to how a teenager (barely) was able to poker-face them so well. Blaine thought that Michael had learned it from Kurt, thought Kurt passionately disagreed with this.

The interruption had baffled and concerned them, so after cleaning for a short while, both Kurt and Blaine headed to bed. On their way to their room, they could see light coming from Lizzie's room, underneath the door. While Kurt continued on his way, Blaine broke off and knocked softly, saying,

"It's way past your bedtime. You can finish that book tomorrow. Goodnight, love you."

Silence, a small "Love you, too", then the light was shut off.

Blaine sighed, then went to join Kurt in their room. With every step that he took, the floorboards creaked beneath him, no doubt irritating their downstairs neighbors. The sounds of thunder had been replaced with the whistling of a cool breeze. Well, cool for early September. The air conditioner was still going full blast, and very faintly, water could be heard running to Blaine's left. The sound was coming from the half-bathroom attached to their room, and since Kurt was nowhere to be seen, Blaine assumed that he was in the bathroom, getting ready for bed.

_Wait._

After a brief moment of putting two and two together, and feeling slightly betrayed, Blaine swept across the room and knocked on the bathroom door. The water stopped running, and the wooden door opened to reveal Kurt, holding a tube of moisturizer. He raised an eyebrow, challenging Blaine.

"What?"

Knowing that his concern was justified, Blaine responded, "You usually do your routine after we have sex."

"And who says we're going to have sex?" Kurt turned towards the mirror with a coy smile, opening the moisturizer. Blaine was now doubly indignant.

"You did, earlier today!" At this point, Blaine almost didn't care about the sex (almost), and now he was more pressed about Kurt going back on his word. He felt a laugh building in his stomach, and he was struggling not to lose his composure. Blaine had a feeling that Kurt was joking, but he wanted to win the argument, regardless.

Kurt shot back, "I have no recollection of that."

"You're evil."

"You love me!" Cue another coy smile.

"I do, but you're evil!" Blaine was now fighting not to laugh. Kurt saw this, and dropped his facade, putting his moisturizer on the sink.

"I'm kidding, Blaine." Kurt closed the medicine cabinet, and exited the bathroom. "I can do my routine afterwards. But, can we make it quick? I'm kinda tired."

"Anything for you, honey."


	10. Chapter Ten: Tentgate

"_Come on, babe, why don't we paint the town?"_

Step, touch.

"_And all that jazz."_

Turn.

"_I'm gonna rouge my knees and roll my stockings down."_

Hip, shoulder.

"_And all that jazz."_

"Mmm, saucy, some ankle!"

"Derek!"

"Sorry, Ms. Rollis."

It was precisely 8:42 AM, Wednesday, September 7th. First period dance for Liz, a perfect way to start off anyone's morning.

Exercise.

After a few days, it began to dawn on Liz that the freshman class had been separated into two groups based on performance level. Maria, who had been dancing since the age of four, was put into Tuesday-Thursday dance with Nate. Liz was put into M-W-F dance with Cheyenne, along with all the other average-skilled students. She had as much poise as a jackhammer, and coordination had always been hard for her. However, Liz was somewhat grateful for being placed with kids that needed as much help as her.

Liz was standing in the back of the danceroom, facing towards the mirror. Every once and awhile, she would catch a glimpse of herself, and cringe. The leotard hugged every roll, every lump. She still had leftover baby fat, most notably in her face, making her look like a giant child. Her wild curls had been particularly disobedient that morning, so she had only managed to put it in a half ponytail, while the rest got in her face while she was dancing.

"_Slick your hair and wear your buckled shoes."_

Cheyenne was up front, demonstrating new choreography.

"_And all that jazz."_

Her glossy black hair reflected the lights on the ceiling.

"_I hear that Father Dip is gonna blow the blues."_

She cocked her hip and rolled a shoulder.

"_And all that jazz."_

A wink and a smile.

Meanwhile, students in the back were struggling to keep up with the steps. Lizzie could remember them just fine, but she kept screwing up, tripping over her own feet and bumping into her partner, a boy named Trent. He was tall, pale, and lanky, sporting black curls and murky green eyes. It seemed he hadn't grown used to his size quite yet, because he was stumbling as much as Liz was. To top this off, neither Liz nor Trent could grasp dancing with each other, stepping on one another's feet, and getting in each other's way.

Clammy, sweaty palms.

Awkward glances and utterances of "I'm sorry."

There was something eerily familiar about Trent that Liz couldn't seem to put her finger on. Not him, specifically, but the way he acted. Being in the back of the dance studio, they were close to the speakers, and the music was _blasting_ right next to them. This, along with the white noise chattering of their classmates, annoyed them both, but Trent especially. As the classroom got louder and louder, he fidgeted more and more. Trent got antsy, tossing Liz around with vigor, almost losing his grip on her once. Finally, everything came to a boiling point near the end of the period. The class was running through "All That Jazz" for the sixth time, and everyone was eager to leave. Trent and Liz once again joined their damp hands to run through their routine, looking at their feet more often than at each other. When Liz would turn to him to remind him of a step, his eyes were firmly fixed towards the front, at Cheyenne, who was demonstrating the moves rather passionately.

Liz wouldn't disagree with the fact that Cheyenne was attractive…

Okay, _gorgeous_ was a better word.

But she was getting irritated with Trent's inattentiveness. She knew how it felt to be distracted every waking moment of her life, but dealing with it from the outside was a challenge that Liz was not ready for. She tapped Trent's shoulder, pulling his attention away from Cheyenne's hips.

"You've gotta focus, Trent!"

_Wow. She was turning into every teacher that she hated growing up._

Trent turned back to Liz, and she could see that no level of scolding was going to pull his focus away from teen hormones. Rather than waste more breath on nagging him, she guided him through the steps as best she could without messing up her footwork. Everything was going just as it should have been, when a voice hissed behind Liz.

"Oh my god, look at his pants!"

Confused, Liz ignored this. Trent, however, frose almost instantly, turned scarlet, and bolted out of the room, leaving Liz partnerless and bewildered. The speakers continued to blast as Ms. Rollis noticed Trent's frantic escape, causing her to snatch the remote for the speakers off the stool near the front of the room, and shut off the music.

"Alright, alright, everyone quiet!" Ms. Rollis waved her hands above her head, attempting to calm the class, most of which was still trying to figure out what had just happened, Lizzie included. Ms. Rollis continued, looking lost. "We're finished for today, everyone go change before the bell rings."

Cheyenne, out of breath and confused, made her way to the girls locker room with most everybody else, seeing as how there were far more girls than boys in the freshman class. Liz followed, every now and then sneaking a glance at Cheyenne, and how her hair swayed when she walked or moved her head. It was hypnotic. However, the task of spotting Cheyenne proved to be far more challenging inside the girl's locker room, because their so-called 'Changing Space' was no bigger than a small hallway. The girls had to cram inside like sardines to change, while the boys had a bit more room. Still, every now and then, Liz would look over and see waves of silky black hair, and feel a flutter in her stomach, like choppy ocean waves.

It felt odd.

News of what would later be called "Tentgate" spread rapidly, reaching most of the freshman class by lunch. This wasn't really remarkable, as their class was made up of almost fifty students. Still, seeing as how Trent was nowhere to be seen during fifth period lunch, it was clear that he was still embarrassed. Liz felt for him, and knew exactly how bad it felt to be judged for something small and stupid. Hell, that's what had gotten her kicked out of her old high school in the first place.

Despite there being only about a hundred students in the lunchroom, the small space made them all feel rather cramped, which was something that all the rooms in the building had in common, even the black box auditorium. Fifth-period lunch was meant for the freshman and the juniors, and the differences were apparent almost immediately. The freshman chatted with each other, sitting in larger groups, while the juniors were more secluded, with the biggest groups holding five people. They were also glaring daggers at the newer students, which made said students feel unwelcome. Ignoring the budding class warfare, one wouldn't be able to hear themselves think amidst the noise. Occasionally, other students would wander into the lunchroom, and mingle with the juniors, while the freshmen were ignored. In fact, all of the upperclassmen seemed to view the new students as roaches to be stepped on.

Sitting at the table directly next to the main staircase, which was dubbed 'their spot' within a week, were Lizzie, Nate, Maria, and Cheyenne. They had to shout to be heard over the chatter of the cafeteria, leaning over the white tabletops and repeating themselves every few seconds. After a half hour of "_What?!" _over and over again, they heard microphone feedback behind them. They turned to see a girl, obviously an upperclassman, holding the microphone and sporting a charismatic smile. She had crimson, springy curls gathered into a bun high on her head, and was dressed sharper than a knife. She spoke,

"As most of you know, my name is Allison Montero. I am currently a senior here at Shaw, and have the honor of announcing the start of student elections! If you wish to run for President, Secretary, or Treasurer of your grade, then put your name up on the call board upstairs, and you're officially in the race!"

She paused, possibly for dramatic effect.

"I'll also take this moment to announce that I am running for Senior President, unsurprisingly, as I've ran and won three years in a row, now. Well, you all know how reliable I've been in leading what is now the senior class, so vote Montero!"

Another pause. Allison glanced at Mrs. Napta, who was gesturing for her to continue. Again, the senior spoke.

"Another announcement! Auditions for Chicago will be after school today, tomorrow, and Thursday. Callbacks will be announced on Friday, and will be held on Saturday at noon. Failure to attend if called back will result in your name being removed from the list. I hope to see you all there!"

And with this, Allison finally surrendered the microphone to Mrs. Napta, who added on,

"One final thing! The sign-up sheet for stage crew is still on the call board upstairs. It's being taken down at the end of the day. If you still wish to participate, then I suggest you decide quickly! Enjoy the rest of your lunch."

And with that, the lunchroom returned to its controlled chaos. All of them had finished eating in the first fifteen minutes of the period, so they tried to pass the time by making small talk.

_Loud_ small talk.

Seeing as how yelling at the top of their lungs wasn't getting them anywhere, Maria, enlightened, pointed towards the staircase and hopped out of her seat, lugging her heavy book bag behind her. Liz, Cheyenne, and Nate followed, clamored to gather their stuff to keep up with her. Once they had all gathered on the second floor, the cafeteria could still be heard, although it was much quieter. They all let out a collective sigh of relief, dropping their things on the piano, gathering next to it. Maria and Cheyenne sat on the bench, while Liz and Nate made themselves cozy on the floor beside them.

"So," said Maria, always one to break silence. "Anyone interested in running for office? Or auditioning for Chicago?"

Nate snorted, tapping away at his phone. "We're freshman, like we're gonna be considered for the school shows."

Lizzie was brought back down to Earth with this, as she had the tendency to daydream. She took a moment to collect herself before adding, "Wait, what? It shouldn't matter if we're freshman or not. They should only consider the audition."

"And the grades and behavior." Cheyenne chimed in.

"Yes, and that, of course." Lizzie concluded.

"Well, the seniors do have _seniority,_ if that wasn't too obvious already. They've been here for three full years, now, and to them, we're just trying to steal their mojo without having to put in the time or effort." said Cheyenne, absent-mindedly playing with her hair.

"Tough." Maria stood up, and walked over to the call board. It was already covered in sheets of paper, advertising auditions for the Spanish Heritage Assembly, as well as Chicago. She waved for the rest of the group to join her, and soon, the four of them were facing the many sign-up sheets.

"Okay, why are we here?" asked Nate, clearly puzzled.

Maria gestured to the two sign-up sheets for Spanish Heritage and Chicago. "Do you see any names that you recognize?"

"We've only been here a week…" Cheyenne muttered.

"None of these names belong to freshman?" Liz asked.

"Bingo!" Maria exclaimed. "If the seniors think they're so much better than everyone, then they should prove it!"

"Umm, hi there!"

The four turned, spooked, to once again see the smartly-dressed Allison Montero, carrying a mile-high stack of papers, emblazoned with her last name in bold letters. She looked equally confused and indignant.

"Wow, what bug crawled up your asses?" She set the papers atop the piano, next to the four book bags. "You guys are upset about what, exactly?"

The shift in tone in most everyone was instant. Lizzie and Cheyenne backed up, looking at the ground, while Nate bit his lip and clasped his hands together, seemingly about to apologize. However, Maria was having none of it.

"I'm sorry if what I said offended you, but why should the seniors get picked for everything just because they're seniors? You should have to put in as much effort as everyone else to get noticed around here!"

Allison now just looked confused. "Then," she gestured to her stack of papers, "what the fuck are all of these?" She looked from one guilty face to another. "You think I was planning on putting these campaign posters all over the school for shits and giggles?"

Nate stammered, "No, we were just-"

"I'm not finished." Allison shot Nate a death glare. He cowered. "I don't get everything handed to me because I'm a senior. I get everything handed to me because I'm the best performer this piece-of-shit school has." She once again pointed out her posters. "And the best leader. Valedictorian. Finalist in every competition this school has ever had, since I was a naive little freshman, like you."

Lizzie and Cheyenne remained silent, and Nate joined suit. Maria seemed like she wanted to continue her argument.

"If you have something to say, then fucking say it, don't stand there sniveling."

Maria raised herself up high, despite her fear. "We're not denying that some of the seniors have talent, but all I'm saying is that you, as a class, shouldn't be raised to a higher standard simply because you're older. And I don't know about the rest of the freshman class, but we won't let you talk to us like that."

Allison raised an eyebrow, smirking, and said, "Your friends don't share your opinion…"

Maria gazed behind her to see Liz, Cheyenne, and Nate, now all looking intently at the floor. She huffed, and turned back to face the senior.

"Fine, then. I guess it's just me."

"Let me be frank." Allison crossed her arms. "None of you are going to amount to anything if you keep blaming your inabilities on others. That just means that you can't look at yourself and say, 'Maybe it's me.' Why do you think that I've done so well here? I had plenty of people talk shit about me behind my back, but if they didn't have the balls to say what they had to say to my face, then fuck them." She looked at the three behind Maria. "And fuck you little shits in particular. I know all good and well that you were chatting with Little Miss Mouth, here. But none of you came out and backed her up. Some friends you are."

"Don't talk to them like that!"

Maria was never one to usually raise her voice, so that left Liz rather stunned, stunned enough to raise her head and face Allison. Allison raised her hands defensively, continuing,

"Hey, hey! I know that I might sound like a mean old bitch right now, and maybe I am a mean old bitch. But you three need a wake-up call in walking the walk and not talking the talk. I'm gonna start showing you guys some respect once you earn it."

Nate raised his head, looking confused. "Three? There's four of us."

"I'm not including Miss Mouth here, because she had the guts to call me out on my shit. Guts that you three need to develop if you're gonna be noticed here." Allison turned back to Maria. "Don't mistake that for praise. Think of it more as tolerance. If you can dish it out, make sure that you're able to take it, too. That's what's gotten me so far. Knowing that I'm the best thing that's ever happened to this school. _And _making sure that no one forgets it."

Allison then began to relax, backing up slightly. "Consider this your orientation. No one's gonna respect you until you prove that you deserve it. Better yet, until you fight for it. So, what are you gonna do to prove that you should be respected?"

"…"

"I'm dying of old age…"

Appearing almost frantic, Maria grabbed the pen hanging up on the call board.

**CHICAGO AUDITIONS (THURSDAY)**

_Maria Pierce-Lopez_

**HISPANIC HERITAGE AUDITIONS**

_Maria Pierce-Lopez_

Turning back to Allison, as if to say '_Well? That good enough for you?' _Allison smiled, and responded.

"See you at the auditions."


	11. Chapter Eleven: Nothing Was Said

_Don't puke._

_Don't puke._

_**Don't puke.**_

Like a mantra, Michael repeated this ridiculous phrase in his head for minutes on end. Of course, this had no effect on the fact that he was blowing chunks every few seconds. He was grateful that the hall bathroom was nowhere near where his parents slept, or they would have heard him for sure. And on top of feeling like garbage, he had walked in on them sucking face about a week ago, though it still felt like an hour ago.

'_Gross. Maybe that's why I feel so sick…'_

He had been feeling ill for days at this point, though he just chalked it up to being a stomach bug. He already acted irritated at school anyways, so the change in behavior went unnoticed. He didn't look sick, either. Michael's plan; wait for it to go away. He had already survived a week, what was a few more days?

The next day, Michael didn't feel any better. In fact, he felt infinitely worse. His throat felt like he had just swallowed Iron Wool, and his stomach was churning like the Atlantic Ocean. He wanted to do anything but go to school, but even that was a better alternative than staying home with his family, treating him like a toddler with a cold.

It was a particularly warm late September day, the last hurrah of summer before autumn rolled in. Warm breezes caressed Michael's face, but that did little to help his shivering. He was shaking like a wet leaf, boiling on the outside, and freezing on the inside, like a human Hot Pocket. The leaves on the trees were just beginning to turn brown, and a few were already decorating the cracked sidewalk. Every step felt as though he was carrying a large boulder while walking through sand.

On the bright side, it was a beautiful day.

A half-hour of '_Oh god, I'm dying,' _and Michael reached P.S./I.S. 905, unsure of whether or not the nausea was part of being sick or simply looking at his school. He decided that it was a bit of both, as he reluctantly trudged into the building. A wave of sickness hit him as he stepped into the frigid lobby, which was most likely below 65 degrees. This didn't help the constant chills that kept going down Michael's spine. He had left the apartment earlier than usual, to avoid detection from his parents, so the school was practically empty, save for a few teachers and the occasional janitor. Mrs. Zadeh was one such teacher, making her way to the nearest staircase to get to the eighth grade math classroom, the subject she taught. Michael made a beeline in the opposite direction, desperately hoping she wouldn't see him. Much to his disappointment, just as he was about to turn a corner, he heard a soft voice behind him, laced with concern.

"Michael, are you alright?"

As Michael felt a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck, he surprised himself with his seemingly composed response; "Of course! We're going over something we learned last year, right? Are we almost done, so we can start studying for the Algebra Regents? I know I'm not supposed to be worried about it so early in the year, but," Michael took a deep breath to continue, feeling his stomach churn sickeningly. "My class is the most advanced, after all, and I want to make sure that we're prepared for the test. The Regents are supposed to be really tough and I want to make sure we're all ready and-"

"Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"You're scaring me quite a bit. Do you want to go to the nurse, or…?" Mrs. Zadeh readjusted the supplies in her arms, clasping her hands and leaning forward to see Michael more clearly. He was quick to exclaim,

"No! No, I'm fine, I have a history test that I haven't studied for, so I'm a little stressed over that. I'd better go study for it while I have the time, bye!"

Michael dashed down the hall, leaving Mrs. Zadeh baffled and concerned. He knew that he had classes with her later in the day, but the only thing he could think about was not blowing chunks all over the lockers. Every step he took echoed down the empty, cold hallway, amplified in his head to sound as though he were walking through a giant canyon. Posters advertising the upcoming book fair decorated the walls, adorned with stock images of cartoon novels and comic sans fonts. The faint scent of cleaning product hung in the air, burning Michael's nose and making him feel even worse. His head had begun to pound, and his mouth was as dry as a desert. He managed to make it down the length of the hallway before he felt the urge to vomit, prompting him to immediately turn around and sprint towards the nearest boys bathroom. The next few seconds were a blur, but Michael remembered the slamming of a door, papers rustling as his bookbag was haphazardly thrown to the floor, and _lots_ of gross retching. His stomach seemed determined to turn itself inside out, and Michael wasn't sure how he was going to get through an entire day of school while his whole body was going on strike.

Despite their own odd quirks, Michael was really grateful for Hazel and Peter. Throughout the first half of the day, they practically dragged him from class to class. Hazel, being her usual self, kept trying to convince Michael to go to the nurse, while Peter made fun of how gross he looked. He felt like total garbage, but at least he knew his idiot friends were there for him.

The only period that he was dreading was Algebra, the class he had after lunch. He was a tutor for 8RF, and he _really_ didn't want to deal with Stan that day.

He felt sick enough as it was.

Thankfully, his nausea had subsided for the time being, so, feeling normal for the first time that day, he trudged into the Algebra classroom. Mrs. Zadeh was sitting at her desk, typing vigorously on her laptop. Once the door closed behind Michael, she lifted her head, and almost instantly, her look turned from friendly to concerned.

"Michael, you look horrible!"

Michael smirked. "Thanks, I try."

"Sweetheart, I'm serious, you look much worse than this morning, you need to see the nurse!"

"I know you're my teacher, but I would respectfully disagree with you on that."

During this exchange, the door opened behind Michael, and a familiar, grating voice attacked his eardrums.

"Miss, are you proud of me? I'm early today!" Stan yelled, dropping his book bag near the whiteboard. Michael then saw Stan out of the corner of his eye, looking bewildered.

"Okay, you look weird all the time, but you look sick today."

_Wow. If he notices I'm sick, then I must really look awful._

"It's because Michael is actually sick, Stanley."

"No, I'm not!"

Without saying a word, Stan held something in his hands under Michael's nose. As it turns out, said something was what they had for lunch that day, chicken nuggets. Normally, Michael wouldn't care about the smell of their lunch, as it wasn't anything to write home about. But somehow, those pieces of chicken prompted him to turn away in disgust. Not a second later, a wave of nausea came over him again, the most powerful one yet. Michael didn't have to say anything before Mrs. Zadeh swept up the trash can under her desk and held it under his chin. As he emptied the contents of his stomach, he heard Stan yell in disgust.

"You better not get any puke on my bag!"

"Stanley, I need you to take Michael to the nurse." said Mrs. Zadeh.

Immediately, both of them protested.

"I said I'm fine!"

"The first time I'm not late to math, and I have to be a babysitter?!"

Fed up, Mrs. Zadeh silenced both boys. "That's quite enough! Mr. Anderson, you're clearly not well enough to remain in school. Mr. Greene, I'm happy that you got here early, and I would be even happier if you would think of your fellow classmate and help him!"

Stan grumbled, and asked, "Can I leave my backpack here?"

"Yes, I'll have it behind my desk so no one can mess with it."

"...Fine. Come on, Captain Brain."

Michael hadn't heard that nickname in a while, not so affectionately coined by Stan a few days into sixth grade. But, Michael was too sick to care about names at that point. However, he was not sick enough to ignore the fact that, as soon as they got into the hallway, Stan kept trying to grab his arms.

"Would you quit it?! I already feel like crap as it is!"

"Hey shit-for-brains, I'm trying to help you! You keep swaying like you're gonna fall, and I don't feel like getting in trouble just because you're a stubborn dick!"

Michael shot daggers at the blond boy, who was glaring right back at him. "Alright, fine!" Michael thrust his arm at Stan. As much as it pained him, he really did need help walking, he just _really_ didn't want it to be from Stan. As Stan took hold of the arm that Michael offered, Michael stumbled, feeling as though the world had been flipped upside down.

Black spots.

Then nothing.

The first thing he remembered feeling was a hand roughly shaking him, jolting him around like a dead fish. He groaned.

"Jesus Christ, what's the matter with you? Are you really that much of an asshole that you want me to _drag_ you to the nurse?"

As Michael's vision cleared up, he could see the silhouette of a large, unpleasant head against bright ceiling lights.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" He sat up with a hiss. "Maybe I really do need to go to the nurse."

"_**No shit, Sherlock!"**_

"Oh my god, will you shut the fuck up for one second? I mean, it's bad enough talking without a brain, but do you have to do it all the time?"

Stan yanked Michael off of his feet, and Michael thought he was finally going to get that ass-beating that had been threatened since day one of middle school. Much to his surprise, Stan put an arm around him and continued down the hallway, practically carrying him.

"Better to be stupid than to be an asshole…"

"You know, I kinda _have_ to be! Everyone treats me weird, and they all avoid me like the plague!" Michael exclaimed.

"You think you're better than everyone, you always bitch when you're put in group assignments, and you treat your friends like sidekicks!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Michael stumbled once again, and Stan stopped to let him regain his footing.

"Why can't you just be happy for that girl you're friends with? Heather, right?"

"Hazel."

"Close enough." The pair stopped at the elevator and waited. "She always wins the science fair, and instead of being happy for her, you get jealous!"

Michael rolled his eyes. "That's how we got to be friends in the first place. I like how she challenges me to think outside of the box, she forces me to do better."

"Then how come you never act happy for her when she wins?"

"She knows I'm happy for her. Plus, she doesn't need my validation to feel good about herself. Despite you and your friends always making fun of her, she's never changed who she is."

Silence. After a few seconds, Michael continued,

"And I can't help it when I act 'better than everyone'. Most of the time, I don't realize I'm doing it. I hate working in groups because I end up having to do all the work."

Stan snorted. "How can you not notice how much of an asshole you are? Are you that pretentious?"

"Please, can you just be _**quiet?!**_ My head hurts like a bitch, and you're not helping!"

"No! I'm sick of people telling me to shut up, just because I'm stupid! Tell me what the hell is wrong with you!"

"_I have Asperger's, OKAY?!_"

Nothing was said after this. The silence was only broken by the '_Ding'_ of the elevator arriving.

Nothing was said on the ride to the first floor.

Nothing was said while walking to the Nurse's Office.

Nothing was said when Stan knocked on the door.

The door to the Nurse's Office swung open to reveal a remarkably short, plump woman. She was one of the most beloved people in the school, and had been working there for over twenty years.

"Stanley! Michael!" Miss O. exclaimed. "Naima called and told me to expect you two!"

"Naima?" asked Stanley.

"Your Algebra teacher?" Miss O. smiled warmly and chuckled. "Now, Michael," She took Michael's arm and helped him over to the bed on the opposite side of the room. "Your teacher tells me that you vomited before class."

Michael, after a bit of struggling, got up on the bed, the scratchy paper crinkling noisily underneath him. "Yeah, I've been feeling sick for a week now."

"A week?" Miss O. raised her eyebrows so high, they disappeared under her bangs. "You poor thing, you've been to school all week feeling ill?"

"It's really not that serious…"

Always one to voice his opinion, Stan loudly proclaimed; "Dude, you passed out upstairs!"

"Michael, you lost consciousness?"

"I mean, yeah, but…"

Miss O. interrupted him. "I don't want to hear any more. I'm calling your parents to pick you up."

"Both of them are working."

"Alright, I'll have to look at your emergency contacts, then, I'll just be a minute. Stanley, stay with Michael, and yell if he gets sick again."

With that, Miss O. tottered out of the room, shaking her head. This left Michael and Stan alone once again. Stan shifted awkwardly, and Michael did the same, further wrinkling the paper beneath him. He flinched at the harsh sound.

"Hey, uh, I'm sorry… About before?" Stanley said, sheepishly looking up at Michael. "I don't really know what 'Aspergers' is, but it sounds like it sucks. You feel like shit and I made it worse."

"Well, you did make me feel worse, but you didn't do it on purpose… Did you?"

Stan was quick to protest. "No, no! I still think you're an ass, but I should've given you a pass today, with you being sick."

"I'm honored, really. But, how about you just leave me alone, altogether?"

Before Stan could answer, Miss O. returned to the office, holding a file full of papers in one hand, and a flashcard in another.

"Okay, Michael, you have two emergency contacts. Brittany and Santana Pierce-Lopez. It says here that they're your aunts?"

"Yes, they are."

"Are either of them available to take you home?" Miss O. took another look at Michael. "Or maybe to the hospital?"

"I think my Aunt Brittany is teaching a dance class right now, but I'm pretty sure my Aunt Santana is off work today."

"Do you want to call her, or do you want me to call her?"

"No, I can call her!" Michael was quick to clarify. He _really_ didn't want his aunt getting a call from his school nurse. "I just need to get my phone… Oh shit!"

"Language!"

Stan snickered. "He left his bag upstairs."

Miss O. sighed. "You can use my phone, then. I just need to go and get it."

Again, she tottered out of the room. Stan turned to look at Michael curiously.

"What do you think is wrong with you?"

"It's just a stomach bug."

"You said you've been sick for a week."

Michael furrowed his brows, feeling his head begin to ache again. "Yeah, and?"

Stan rose from the chair he had sat in and walked over to the bed. "I promise I'm not trying to hurt you on purpose, I just want to see something…"

After a few seconds of Michael dodging Stan's arm, Stan finally managed to touch him, slightly pressing on the sick boy's lower right side.

Michael immediately recoiled with a strangled yell. "What the _fuck,_ Stan?!" The spot that was touched was aching as though he was just punched, and Michael wrapped his arms around himself in pain. Miss O. came back into the room with her phone and a worried expression on her face.

"What's wrong? Michael, are you going to be sick again? Are you hurt?"

Before Michael could answer, Stan piped up, "I think something's wrong with his appendix!"

Michael turned to glare at Stan. "How the hell would you know that?"

"I felt like this back in fourth grade, and I had to go to the hospital."

Miss O. approached Michael on the bed. "Arms down, sweetheart."

Reluctantly, Michael did as he was told, grumbling. She lifted up his shirt and pressed gently on his lower right side.

"_Aaaaaahpleasestopdoingthaaat."_

"What?"

"Please stop touching me, that _really _hurts…"

Miss O. removed her hand. "I think Stanley is right, this seems like a textbook case of appendicitis." She opened her phone and continued. "Since this will most likely require a hospital visit, I would feel much safer contacting your parents, rather than your aunt. You're clearly not well enough to call them yourself, so I will." She put a hand on Michael's shoulder. "Lie down and try to relax sweetheart. I can't do much right now, but I can get you water. Do you want a heating pad?

As Michael struggled to lay down, he said, "It's okay, I just want to close my eyes and try to sleep before I have to go to the hospital."

"Alright, then." Miss O. turned towards Stan. "Stanley, you can go back to class now."

"Um, can I stay here? I want to make sure that Michael will be okay?" Stan sat back down, smiling innocently at the nurse.

Miss O. put a hand over her heart. "It warms my heart to see students looking out for each other, or course you can stay. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have calls to make."

For the third time, Miss O. tottered out of the room. Michael rested his head so it was facing Stan and raised an eyebrow.

"I know you're trying to get out of Algebra."

"Well, yeah, but you do seem really sick. I know how bad having your appendix out is, and I wanted to make sure you weren't alone…"

"...Thanks, I guess,"

Michael was stumped. He couldn't figure out why Stan was being friendly with him all of a sudden. He decided to chalk it up to pity, which is why strangers were usually friendly to him. Still, it was Stan, so he was thankful nonetheless.

The only sound heard in the next minute was Miss O. speaking over the phone in the next room. Michael closed his eyes, trying his best to sleep, but to no avail, as the lights in the office were _far_ too bright. He couldn't recall how long his eyes had been closed, but eventually, Miss O. came back into the office, seemingly more relaxed.

"Both of your parents are on their way to pick you up."

Michael tried to sit up, but the nurse put her hand on his shoulder, her iron grip keeping him down. He rested his head on the pillow again, and expressed his concern.

"Both of them? Only one of them is required to pick me up, though?"

"Michael, it's very likely you'll need to have an appendectomy, I thought it was appropriate to inform them both of that fact."

"Oh… Okay."

Miss O. gazed sympathetically at Michael. "Just stay in bed, for now. The last thing I want you doing is moving around. I'll go get you a blanket. Stanley," Miss O. turned her head. "You need to go back to class. It was thoughtful of you to stay here on Michael's behalf, but I can't have you missing a lesson."

Stan grumbled, unwillingly rising from his chair. "Okay. Feel better." He shifted nervously as he waved goodbye, which Michael returned. With that, Stan left, door slamming behind him.

Miss O. disappeared back into her office, finally giving Michael some peace for the first time that day. His abdomen still hurt like hell, but at least he had some peace and quiet. He knew that Blaine's theatre troupe was closer to his school, but Kurt had the car that day, so it was expected that he wouldn't be getting picked up for another hour. Kurt was coming from Manhattan, after all.

Once again, Michael closed his eyes, trying to stifle the pounding in his brain. He heard the clock as every second passed by.

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

All Michael could do now was wait.


	12. Chapter Twelve: Mahal

If Michael wasn't feeling like pure garbage before, he sure was now.

He couldn't think what was worse, hitting potholes every minute or so, the occasional whiff of something foul through the backseat of the car, or the _constant_ stream of,

"How are you doing, buddy?"

"It's okay, we're gonna get to the hospital really soon."

"Are you going to be sick again? Do you need me to stop the car?"

Michael wanted nothing more than to unbuckle his seatbelt, open the car door, and tuck and roll to escape this embarrassment. But, his stomach was beginning to ache worse than before, so that idea was scrapped as soon as it was created. Traffic sucked, but that was normal for Manhattan. Michael leaned his head against the window, feeling the heavenly breeze bless his boiling face. The window was open, so he could hear all the beautiful sounds of the city, including such gems as;

"Watch where the fuck you're going, asshole!"

"Hey baby, how 'bout a smile?"

"Listen, I'm running late, can I call you back tomorrow morning?"

New York City was weird, but weird was right up Michael's alley, so it was okay. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he was so sick at that point, that he wouldn't mind a little coddling from his parents.

Just a little.

_**THUMP.**_

"Owww…"

"Sorry, Mikey, I'm trying to avoid the potholes."

"It's okay, Dad."

Blaine looked back at Michael from the passenger's seat, looking frightful. "Are you sure you're not going to be sick again? Do you need water? I can get you the blanket from the trunk."

"Blaine…"

"Wait, hold on, I have Pepto-Bismol in the glove box…"

"Honey!" As the car (thankfully) came to a stop at a red light, Michael saw Kurt turn to Blaine. Blaine looked up from the glove box he was currently searching in.

"Yeah?"

"I think getting Michael to the hospital should be priority number one, right now, sweetheart."

Kurt reached over and rubbed Blaine's shoulder, resulting in Blaine dropping his head almost immediately, sighing.

"I know, I'm worked up over nothing."

"Hey."

"Yes, Kurt?" Blaine smiled softly.

"Courage."

With that, the two shared a kiss. Michael's lap became the most interesting thing in the universe, and he continually twiddled his thumbs, unsure if the current '_I'm going to puke'_ feeling was from his ailment, or from his parents. Kurt and Blaine caught sight of him, eyes locked on the floor.

"Like you haven't seen this before!" Blaine laughed, readjusting himself to sit comfortably.

"I already feel gross, you guys are making it worse."

Kurt chuckled. "That's just your appendix talking."

"No, that's my common sense talking…" Michael pouted. He caught sight of himself in the mirror between his parents, and nearly got sick again. His black hair was stuck to his forehead, and he was a sickly shade of green and gray. Michael was then stunned out of judging himself by a _loud_ car horn behind them.

"The light just turned green, impatient bastard!"

"Kurt!"

Kurt tightened his grip on the wheel, breathing deeply. He eyed something on the road up ahead.

"Another pothole, Michael, I can't avoid it."

"Dad, I told you it's okay."

_**THUMP.**_

Michael leaned his head back, trying once again to only feel the cool air from his window.

"I know this is Manhattan, but why all the holes? What the hell are my taxes paying for?" Kurt grumbled.

Michael opened his eyes to joke, "A new yacht for some rich guy?"

Both his parents laughed. It was a relief for Michael to feel his stomach swell with pride rather than vomit_, _for a change.

It felt _really_ good.

The rest of the car ride was a blur of head pounding, nausea, and road rage. Michael was struggling with his seatbelt, as it locked whenever his father hit the brakes. Despite his attempts to calm his parents down, both remained anxious. He had a vague idea of why, though it happened before he had even met Luke, over a decade ago.

But that story could be saved for when Michael didn't feel like garbage.

Trying to park was… _interesting_, to say the least. Parking in Brooklyn was bad enough, but Manhattan was a whole new level, like trying to find a needle in a haystack. As such, Kurt and Blaine decided to split up, so Blaine could take Michael into the hospital, and Kurt could hunt for a spot.

Michael quickly realized that home was, in fact, not the worst place in the world, as he had thought earlier. It seemed the worst place in the world was every hospital waiting room ever. It was loud, cramped, and cold. Plus, it smelled strongly of hand sanitizer, which didn't help with Michael's nausea. Blaine seemed to notice this, because as they were looking for a place to sit, he kept scanning the room for chairs with easy access to either a trashcan or a bathroom.

As if God himself was blessing them, there were two chairs right next to a men's bathroom for Michael to _finally_ sit down in and rest his eyes. Attending a New York City public school gave Michael a sort of superpower, the ability to drown out constant noise, which came in handy when waiting for his father to sign him in. And while there were no complaining middle-aged women or crying babies in middle school, it was still easy enough for Michael to relax just a bit.

"Hey, buddy, you think you can fill these out, or do you want me to do it?" Blaine had joined Michael, clipboard in one hand, pen in the other. Michael opened his eyes, squinting against the bright lights above him.

"Don't you have to do it? I'm under eighteen…"

Blaine slowly closed his eyes, sighing deeply. "You're right, you're right…" He clicked the pen clenched in his hand nervously.

_Click._

_Click._

_Click._

"What do you mean we have to wait? My daughter is extremely sick!" There was a woman standing at the front desk with her daughter, who looked as though she wanted to sink through the floor.

"Mom, I said I feel fine!"

"Haylee, be quiet!"

"Can we please go home?"

"Will you hold on one second?"

The bickering between mother, daughter, and receptionist continued as Michael battled his stomach aching, wrapping his arms around himself. Blaine looked up from the forms he was filling out, trying and failing to stay calm.

"Are you going to vomit again?" Michael wanted nothing more than to say no, but in that moment, his gag reflex kicked in. He nodded, eyes watering and throat burning. Blaine was standing in less than a second, practically throwing the pen and clipboard onto his once occupied chair. He hoisted Michael up by his armpits, wrapping both arms around his son and dragging him into the bathroom. Thankfully, Blaine had asked early enough so that Michael got to a toilet, rather than decorating his front with half-digested chicken nuggets. In fact, they almost got all the way to a stall when Michael's knees buckled beneath him, nearly bringing both him and Blaine to the floor.

"I'm sorry!"

"You're sick, I have more important things to worry about than a few bruises!"

Once Michael was in a stall, it took all of five seconds to be violently sick, complete with more gross retching and coughing. All the while, Blaine was rubbing his back. Michael couldn't mistake the fear in his voice when he tried to comfort him.

"It's alright, you're okay, we're gonna get you feeling better real soon…"

In the midst of his sickness, Michael heard the bathroom door open once more, followed by loud footsteps.

"Is he alright? Do you know what's wrong with him?"

Michael picked up his head and saw a man that was absolutely shredded. He looked as though he ate weights for breakfast, and his bicep was bigger than Michael's head. To his surprise, this mystery guy was wearing scrubs, so he must have worked at the hospital. Blaine made this connection, as well, and sighed in relief.

"Yes, he has appendicitis. I don't know how serious it is, but he passed out in school today and has been throwing up every half hour."

"I'd say that's pretty serious." Buff Guy chuckled. "We do appendectomies here all the time, the doctors can practically do them in their sleep. May I?"

Buff Guy put Michael's arm over his shoulder and supported the side opposite of Blaine. "Alright, if you guys would wait a minute right here," He gently sat Michael down in the waiting room. "I'll go get a wheelchair, so you guys can see a doctor as soon as possible."

"Thank you so much, you have no idea how worried we were." Blaine sat down next to Michael with another relieved sigh, rubbing his face. Michael sat up, hoping the new posture would ease the pain.

"Papa, are you okay?"

Blaine moved his hands away from his face, tried to smile for a moment, then dropped the act. He wrapped his arms around Michael and pulled him into a hug. Michael hesitated for a moment, then rested his head on Blaine's shoulder, closing his eyes.

"I worry about you a lot."

"_Really?_ I couldn't tell!"

Blaine looked down at his son, looking stern for a moment, then sighing with a smirk. "You get a pass because you're sick, but I really want you to start checking your attitude from now on."

"I mean, I can try…" Michael cringed inwardly, and for the first time in a while, felt self-conscious. "I-I can't really tell when I'm being a dick, though."

"Alright, first of all, don't use words like that outside of the house." Blaine ruffled his son's hair, and Michael didn't have the energy to push his hand away. "And, I'll make sure that everyone at home tells you if you're being rude, so you can take the time to calm down if you need it."

A few seconds of silence between the two, then, "Okay, I can do that."

"Alright, we ready to rock and roll?" Buff Guy had made his triumphant return, complete with wheelchair. The woman who had been bickering with the receptionist focused her angry glare at Blaine and Michael.

"We were here first!"

"Mom…"

"Haylee, _shush!_"

Buff Guy tightened his grip on the wheelchair, never once letting his winning smile slip from his face. "Ma'am, I'm very sorry, but as you can clearly see, this young man is really sick. As such, he takes priority over you and your daughter. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a patient that needs attention…"

With this, Buff Guy ignored the woman's complaints and helped Michael into the wheelchair. Michael bit his lower lip. "Do I really need this?"

Blaine answered, "Unless you'd rather walk."

Michael huffed. He felt a hand trying to rub his shoulder every five seconds, which didn't quite make him feel better, physically. Michael would never admit this, but it made him feel _way_ more safe than he had felt at school. Make no mistake, he hated when his parents treated him like a little kid, but with how sick he was, a little coddling wasn't the worst thing in the world. As he was wheeled down hallway after hallway, and more corners than he could count, he began to feel his eyes droop.

_I need to stay awake for Papa, he'll freak out if I don't..._

_What can I think of that will keep me awake?_

'_**Borderline personality disorder, also known as emotionally unstable personality disorder, is a mental illness characterized by a long-term pattern of unstable relationships, distorted sense of self, and strong emotional reactions.'**_

"_Sweetie, your mommy is very sick right now."_

'_**You quickly learn that your role is to satisfy your mother's demands, however unrealistic, unstable, and conflicting, and she often seeks to exert control and limit your autonomy as a frantic effort to avoid abandonment.'**_

"_So you're going to be staying with a new family for a little while."_

'_**Parents with BPD can have reactions that are wholly disproportionate to the perceived infraction. Occurrences of prolonged rages and angry outbursts are common.'**_

"_What's wrong with you?! Do you know how late it is? I can't drive you to the hospital!"_

"_Mommy, my arm hurts."_

"_Just- go back to bed, I don't want to deal with you right now…"_

"_Oh… okay."_

"Buddy, we're here…"

Michael forced himself to open his eyes to look upon a standard hospital room, crisp, clean, and neat. He didn't realize how tired he was until Buff Guy tried to get his attention.

"Hey little man, you wanna…" Michael began to drift away again, until he felt a hand rubbing his shoulder.

"You heard what he said, Mahal?"

That got Michael's attention. Blaine only called him that when he was _really_ worried. Michael struggled to sit up in the chair. "Hey, I'm sorry, can you repeat that, please? My head feels like it's underwater…"

Buff Guy shrugged, grinning. "No big deal! I asked if you wanted help changing into your hospital gown."

"Oh… no, I think I'm okay."

"Alright, in that case, it's time for me to head out. The doc will be in with you two shortly, to discuss the surgery, to put in the IV, and all that fun stuff!" Michael caught a glimpse of his father turning green out of the corner of his eye. "Do you guys need anything before I go?"

Michael thought for a moment. "What's your name?"

Buff Guy chuckled, and responded, "The name's Justin, little dude. You?"

"Michael."

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Michael! I'm glad I could help! Now, I gotta get back to one of my other patients. Feel better soon!" Justin practically skipped out of the room, leaving Michael and Blaine alone for the first time that day. Blaine once again wrapped his arms around his son to help him to the bed. Michael was thankful he didn't stumble like he had done before, surprised, too, seeing as how he could barely keep his head up, he was so tired. As soon as Michael was comfortable, Blaine collapsed into the chair closest to the bed, sighing heavily. Michael heard Blaine begin to mutter;

"We're in the hospital, a doctor is seeing him really soon, it's okay-"

"Papa?"

Blaine looked over at his son, who appeared just as concerned as he felt. "I'll manage, Michael. It's you that needs attention right now, not me."

As always, Michael's natural instinct was to argue, but at that moment, his body decided that he was too tired to stay awake. As he began to drift off, he heard his father laugh softly.

"You haven't gotten much sleep in the last few days, have you?"

"No, not really…"

"It's okay, you need rest. Dad and I will be here when you wake up."

Sources for this chapter (in order) are Wikipedia, Bridges To Recovery, and Borderline Personality Treatment)


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